Memories in a Sandalwood Box

When Leo’s wife, Miriam, passed, he found a small sandalwood box on

her dresser, smooth and fragrant, tied with a faded ribbon. Inside were ticket

stubs, pressed flowers, and handwritten notes in her looping script.

The first note read, “For when you miss me.” He smiled sadly and opened another:

a napkin from their first date, her lipstick still faintly visible. The next held a

seashell from the beach where he’d proposed. Each note was a memory carefully

tucked away, as if she’d known he’d need reminders of her love. At the bottom,

one final note rested beneath a photograph of the two of them, sunburned and laughing. Her handwriting