For our 10th anniversary, I gifted my husband his dream watch. He gave me cheap perfume in a plastic bottle. Furious, I tossed it aside unused. Tragically, he died unexpectedly three weeks later—our last celebration.

Grief consumed me. I replayed that night, no longer angry at the gift, but at myself for letting disappointment eclipse our love. I missed his voice, laugh, even his reminders to drink water.

Today, while cleaning, the bottle fell. The cap popped off, revealing a folded note inside. Trembling, I unfolded it: “I know this perfume is temporary, but next month I’ll surprise you with the necklace you’ve been dreaming about. Thank you for believing in me even when I don’t say it enough. You are my forever gift.”

Tears streamed as I clutched it to my heart. The perfume wasn’t cheap—he’d wrapped his love humbly while saving for more. The real gift? His thoughtfulness, effort, quiet devotion I’d overlooked.

Now, the bottle sits on my bedside table—not mourning loss, but cherishing the love always there. Sometimes, a gift’s value isn’t its price, but the heart behind it. And we grasp its worth too late.