He hugged me and apologized, but when I said it hurt me, he shut down. The next day I bought his favorite chocolate, and he threw it away, saying he didn’t deserve kindness after forgetting something so important.
I realized it wasn’t just about a birthday anymore.
That night we sat in silence, years of small neglect between us — missed coffees, tired eyes, things we once noticed.
We’d turned love into routine, and routines just pass through days like birthdays.
The next morning he brought back the chocolate, cleaned and wrapped with a ribbon. “I was ashamed,” he said. “I want to start remembering again — not just your birthday, but what makes you smile.” He was trying.
Sometimes love isn’t grand gestures. It’s choosing to begin again.
That evening we shared the chocolate, laughed, and let a quiet peace return. I understood: forgiveness isn’t forgetting the hurt — it’s still choosing love.