For my birthday, my husband gave me lavender shower gel—the one scent he knew I hated. I cried and poured it down the toilet. When I asked why he chose it, he hesitated, saying he “thought” I liked it. That’s when I knew something was off.
Days later, I saw a message on his phone: “Did she like the gift? ” — from Mira, his ex. Turns out, they’d been talking. She’d suggested the scent, remembering what she used to wear in college.
I confronted him. He claimed it was just friendship after her mom passed. But letting her guide a gift meant for me? It felt like betrayal.
A few days later, he brought me a bracelet with a vanilla orchid charm—my favorite. “I cut contact,” he said. “I forgot what matters.”
We both realized we’d grown distant. We weren’t connecting like we used to. Since then, we’ve started showing up for each other again—talking, walking, listening.
That bottle of shower gel forced us to face what we were avoiding: neglect.
Love isn’t in the big gestures. It’s in knowing, noticing, and never outsourcing the details.
