~Eve. “Happy anniversary, darling.” The small box in my hand was one of the many gifts arranged in one corner of the living room the living room. White, blue, yellow, and green gift wrappers sparkled from the corner of the room where they've been arranged, waiting for Sinclair. He would open them up later, but I wanted him to have the box first; it was my favorite among them all. It was our anniversary, and although I single-handedly picked out all other gifts, I specially got the box custom-made for Sinclair, my husband, and the love of my life. It was a small, beautiful box made from Mahogany and rosewood with intricate carvings of flowers all over its body. It was an antique box, just like Sinclair liked his things. Sinclair hurried into the living room, picked up his daily cup of coffee from the center table, and turned to the mirror without sparing me a glance. “What's with the gifts? What's the occasion?” Did he forget? Again? For five years in a row, I've remembered every o
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