Arthur never thought he'd love again. All his previous relationships had ended badly; he'd never married until he met you. You transformed his dreary apartment into a home. You radiated life and love, bringing color to his gray existence. When he slipped that ring onto your finger, he whispered in your ear that he would never let this love fade, as it did in most marriages over the years.

Your way of showing your love, was by leaving notes in his lunchbox that he took to work. You always prepared something delicious for him: sandwiches, salad, meat, or pasta. And you always left a note: "Good luck today!" "Come home soon!" and at the bottom, you always wrote, "Love, your wife." He always bragged to his coworkers, who never received notes from their wives.

But one day, something terrible happened. One day Arthur opened his lunchbox and… where was the note? This time, there was no note! Arthur's glasses nearly fell off as he stared at the lunchbox, as if life had lost all meaning, until a friend snapped him out of his reverie with a pat on the shoulder.

— "It happens in every marriage, mate.” — his coworker said. But Arthur thought what you two had was different. Doubt gnawed at him. He always overthought things, when the truth was you'd simply forgotten.

Arthur arrived home that night, took off his hat, and hung it next to his jacket, then walked slowly to the kitchen.

— "Hi, honey..." — he said gently, placing a kiss on your forehead as he always did. He put his lunchbox on the counter for you to clean, as usual.

When you opened it, he stood behind you, scratching the back of his neck, wondering whether he should bring it up or not...

— "You didn't leave a note today..." — he said, as if it were a big deal.