Chapter 24 - THE WEDDING DRESS
Madison kept her wedding dress.
For years.
Then asked me what to do with it.
“Why ask me?”
“Because I can’t tell whether burning it is dramatic.”
“It is.”
“Selling?”
“Practical.”
“Donate?”
“Also practical.”
She donated it to a theater costume program after removing personal embroidery.
No symbolic charity auction.
No “dress of shame.”
A dress was fabric.
The marriage failed for reasons beyond it.
Our family had spent too long making objects carry moral meaning.
Chair.
Dress.
Purse.
Trust envelope.
Camera.
Eventually objects should become objects again.
My purse survived too.
The silver flash drive inside held nothing cinematic.
Trust summaries.
Dad’s letter.
I still used the handbag occasionally until the strap broke.
Then threw it away.
Lena was horrified.
“That purse was evidence-adjacent history.”
May you like
“It was leather.”
She mourned more than I did.
