For thirty-five years, my husband shared with me the same drink every night.

When we had visitors, the bottle remained stored in the closet.

One day, when our daughter Emily was sixteen, she went into the kitchen and saw the bottle.

“What’s inside?” he asked curiously.

Victor took it and smiled.

It is a special recipe of ours  family. Someday I’ll tell you the story.

Emily shrugged and returned to her room.

I, however, kept thinking of his words.

The years passed, but our night tradition never changed.

Once a month, Victor received a small package in the mail.

He carefully stored it and, soon after, a new bottle without a label appeared in the closet.

Every time I asked him where he came from, he replied that he was from an old acquaintance.

When I proposed to ask him about the recipe, Victor simply smiled.