He stood in the doorway of their now-too-quiet walk-in closet, surrounded by the ghosts of her shampoo scents and a thousand sarcastic echoes. The duffel bag on the floor glared up at him like it, too, was disappointed. The rules were simple: one cologne. Just one. He eyed the sleek army of glass bottles, each with a memory like it's own experience — Date Night in Tuscany, New Job Confidence, Apologizing Without Actually Apologizing. In the end, he chose the one he felt the strongest relation...