She never told him. All the silly trinkets that she smuggled away, hidden from sight. She would send them to her mum as soon as she got within a London mailbox that coincided with her time line, hoping she never needed to send for them.
"I'm going to die? What does that mean." She wondered in the days leading up to that tragic event that would ruin all that she had grown to love. So she phoned her mum, "Mum, that collection, keep it on you at all times, I'll send for it soon, promise."
It all ended. All that she cared for, dreamed of, longed for, was lost on another plain, another universe. Screaming and crying against a white wall, so like a hospital wall, pure, sterile, and wrong, her mum tapped her on her shoulder. When she turned around she found herself faced with her collection, saved there with her.
So, now, in a manor house, on a long shelf on the wall opposite her bed, is a string of items. A funny card that says "Have a nice day" in odd script, a sprig of mistletoe, a drawing from a scared child, and two photos, one of a man in a leather jacket with a giant head in a jar next to him that carried the caption "Our first date", and the other of a man with manic eyes and a pinstripe suit with his arm around a girl "All pink and yellow.", as he described her. And just before she went to bed, she added some seashells from a damned beach. Those shells carried a promise.
"I'll find you, I promised you forever, and I'll not give up now. Another universe couldn't keep me away from you." A tear streamed down her cheek, and she crawled into bed, her collection watching over her.