Chapter 26 - THE LAST PURPLE POUCH

When Lucy moved into her first apartment after residency, we found the old purple inhaler pouch in a box.
Empty.
Faded.
She held it.
I expected emotion.
She said:
“Why did we keep this?”
“No idea.”
She tossed it into a donation-recycling pile, then pulled it back.
“Medical fabric probably isn’t recyclable.”
Practical.
Eventually she threw it away.
May you like
No ceremony.
Objects are allowed to stop carrying stories.