Here’s a character who just lost her purpose in the story I’m writing:
At the office, Allison Buckley, Joanne’s youngest sister, greeted her. For most of her life, Meredith knew Allison as another blond head in the Buckley Volvo on the way to tennis. But suddenly, Allison was a teenager, and then just as quickly, off to college. A moment later, she was graduating and interested in event planning, just when Meredith could use an assistant. How perfect was that?
Except it wasn’t perfect at all. Allison came to meetings on time, never early, and she drank too much at the weddings. Today, her hands, always chapped along the knuckles, had a vulgar red nail polish on them, which was already chipping. Meredith herself needed her nails to be just right, otherwise she would pick at the bits of skin that came up along the edges of her fingers until her cuticles were raw. She didn’t know how Allison could stand it.