The woman who lived alone on the 8th floor of my building for 50 years passed away last month. She had a reputation for being difficult, and the neighbors avoided her due to her volatile temper. One day, the police came to my door and asked me to accompany them to her apartment.
When I entered, I was struck by an eerie sight: her walls were covered with photos of me, taken from her balcony, spanning my childhood to the present. It was unsettling and confusing.
I soon learned that this woman had no one in her life, and I had unknowingly kept her company. Over the years, she had made a hobby of photographing me. The most shocking part was that she had left me her apartment, along with the extensive collection of photos.
