A Lifetime of

For fifty years, a reclusive woman lived alone on my building’s eighth floor, avoided by neighbors for her unpredictable nature. Last month, she died, and police asked me to visit her apartment. Inside, I found walls covered with photos of

me—snapshots from my childhood to now, taken from her balcony. It was eerie. I realized she lived in isolation, and somehow, I became her connection to the world through these images. Shockingly, she left me her apartment and the photo collection. Her strange legacy intertwined our lives, forcing me to reflect on her solitude and my own existence.