PERFUME
There are a lot of things that are quintessentially Donna. Her red hair, her witty catchphrase and her perfume.
She has worn different brands over the years, but she always comes back to the same one for those special occasions - when he makes junior partner, when she comes back to his desk, twice, that night she kisses him and the night he shows up at her place, changing them forever.
She wears it on their first official date, on their wedding and on every anniversary since. She wears it on his fiftieth birthday and every milestone one after that.
It's the one she snuck into her hospital bag as she went into labour, and it's the one she wore at every special event they attended for their daughter.
It's the one thing that always stayed around; her clothes still smelling the same as her hair started to fade. Losing the colour that their daughter has now passed on to their grandchild.
It's one of the only things she still remembers as time plays an awful trick on them, and the words that once were her catchphrase are now the reminder of how things used to be as Alzheimer's kicks in, in her late eighties.
It's the scent that lingers in their home even after she passes five years later, her clothes never thrown away. The bottle now used to spray the pillow where she used to lay her head.
It's also the perfume their daughter wears at her father's funeral, just two weeks after her mother's.