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I always imagined our 10th anniversary would be perfect — candlelight, laughter, a meaningful exchange of gifts that showed how far we’d come together. I saved for months to buy my husband the watch he’d always dreamed of, imagining the joy on his face when he opened it. When he handed me a small plastic bottle of perfume in return, my heart quietly sank. It looked cheap, the kind of thing you’d grab at a gas station on impulse. I smiled anyway, trying to hide my disappointment.
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