My husband and I were vacationing in France when he stepped out of a perfume shop, saying he’d forgotten his wallet. Thirty minutes passed… then an hour. I was spiraling when a security guard asked me to follow him, and I feared something terrible had happened.
Instead, he led me to a private back room where Arthur sat with a black eye, being tended to by an elegant older woman—Madame Dubois, the shop owner. She explained that Arthur hadn’t gone back to the hotel at all. He’d slipped out to call the bank because our credit card had been declined and he didn’t want me stressing about money. While he was outside, he saw someone snatch Madame Dubois’s handbag and immediately tackled the thief, getting hit in the face in the process.
Madame Dubois insisted on caring for him and only called me once he could “walk in without scaring” me. She then gifted me a rare perfume and covered the rest of our stay, saying Arthur’s bravery “paid the debt.”
That night, we laughed for the first time in months. I realized how much I’d been assuming the worst instead of seeing the man who was doing everything he could for us. The perfume became a reminder that love isn’t perfect trips or perfect finances—it’s the effort, the intention, and standing by each other through the mess.
We kept in touch with Madame Dubois until she passed. Her yearly message was always the same: “Cherish the protector.” And I did.
