Healthy enough.
Still monitored.
Married to Priya.
No children by choice.
Career thriving.
She came over that afternoon.
Ethan showed her the wig.
She groaned.
“That thing refuses to die.”
“Rude.”
“It looks like a dead spaniel.”
I laughed.
Ethan looked offended.
“You wore this.”
“I had cancer. My judgment was compromised.”
Same friendship.
Decades later.
I asked:
“What should we do
with it?”
Lily and Ethan looked at each other.
For once, neither answered quickly.
Then Lily said:
“Ask the wig organization whether they use old wigs for training.”
They did.
Not for new recipients.
Too old.
But stylists in training could practice maintenance and fitting techniques.
Perfect.
No shrine.
No dramatic burial.
No display case.
It became useful again.
Different use.
The organization asked for the story behind it.
Ethan said:
“Keep the story short.”
Lily said:
“Very short.”
The card attached read:
Donated by two friends who learned that
