“She Lived by Herself for 50 Years, and What I Discovered in Her Apartment After Her Death Left Me Stunned”

“Me?” I said, bewildered. “For her?”

One nodded. “She listed you as her only contact.”

I was stunned. I wasn’t family. I wasn’t even a friend. I was a stranger. But they needed someone to enter her apartment, sort through her possessions, and handle some paperwork. I agreed.

The moment I stepped inside, a strange quiet settled over me. The air was still, almost frozen. I expected dust, clutter, and the musty smell of a life lived in solitude. But what I saw stopped me cold.

Her living room walls were completely covered in framed drawings.

Children’s drawings.

My drawings.

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