One autumn morning, I finally got rid of our disgusting old couch—moldy, creaky, and reeking of must. My husband, Bryce,

had always brushed off my pleas to replace it, which was unlike his practical nature. That day, I called a hauling service, and by afternoon, it was gone.

But when Bryce came home, he panicked. “We have to get it back!” Confused, I followed him to the landfill, where he frantically

searched the couch’s upholstery. Inside, he found a faded childhood map—drawn by him and his late brother, Leo, who died in an accident when they were kids.

The couch was his last connection to Leo, a grief he’d buried for years.We salvaged the map, framed it, and hung it in our living room.

Bryce finally opened up about Leo, sharing stories with our kids, who then made their own “treasure maps.”

What began as a fight over furniture became a journey of healing—teaching us that even the ugliest things can hold priceless memories.

Now, the framed map reminds us to cherish the past while making new adventures. And yes, we bought a much nicer couch.