Story by Elizabeth Spencer
I don’t remember what my husband got me on our first Valentine’s Day together. I don’t remember what he got me last year.
But I do remember what he got me so many days in between.
I remember when he got me my slippers, which he’d put in front of the vent to warm before I got home.
I remember when he got my car washed for me because he knows I always freak out when I have to try to line my wheels up in the conveyor belt tracks.
I remember when he got me the laptop I thought I didn’t care about for Christmas so I could do my work out on our couch in the same room with him while he’s watching ESPN.
I remember.
Love isn’t a day. It’s a daily decision. Sometimes, love decides to get red roses and dark chocolate. But other times—more times—love decides to get its beloved warm slippers, a clean car, and something to help them be in the same space together.
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