She dabbed a few drops of vanilla extract onto cotton balls and tucked them onto the shelves, half-convinced it wouldn’t matter. But as the worst offenders were tossed out and sticky jars wiped down, something shifted. The air inside the fridge turned softer, warmer, almost like walking into a bakery instead of a cold storage box. The vanilla didn’t scream or clash with food; it simply lingered in the background, turning a once-unpleasant chore into a small, quiet pleasure.
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