He followed me home. I’d only spoken up at a yard sale to tell a grieving widow her late husband’s vintage camera collection was worth thousands, not the measly $300 that man offered her. But when he showed up at my door, yelling and breaking things, I realized this wasn’t over.
I wasn’t looking for anything in particular when I stopped to explore a yard sale that Saturday. The driveway was cluttered with the usual stuff: lamps nobody wanted, stacks of paperbacks with cracked spines, and mismatched dishes. Then I saw the folding table at the far end, and I moved closer without thinking, drawn by something I couldn’t name yet.
A Canon AE-1, a Leica M4, and even a Minolta wrapped in yellowed tape, its light meter dusty but intact. They reminded me of my father. Memories rushed in before I could stop them, of Dad carefully cleaning a lens with a special cloth, and the smell of developing chemicals in his makeshift darkroom.
He’d let me hold the cameras sometimes, taught me how to focus, and how to frame a shot. How to see the world differently. But then my chest tightened.
He left when I was 14. Mom said he gave up on us, that he’d moved on to some new life without looking back. I never knew if that was the truth or just her version of it, but he was gone either way.
Mom moved us to a different state, and I learned to live with the empty space Dad left behind. “You interested in cameras?”
“Oh,” I said, still a little dazed. “Yeah, I am.
These are beautiful.”
“These belonged to my husband. He passed in April.” She touched the Leica gently. “He loved these things, and I’d love to see them go to someone who will appreciate them the way he did.”
My throat felt tight.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I was about to ask about the Leica when a sharp voice cut through the moment like a knife. We both turned. A man strode up to the table, clearly out of place in his pressed shirt, expensive loafers, and branded sunglasses.
He didn’t wait for permission, just started gathering cameras into his arms like he was picking up groceries. Lois blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, that seems—”
“They’re outdated,” he interrupted, not even looking at her.
His pushy attitude made me think he knew exactly what those cameras were truly worth. He probably planned to lowball Lois and then flip the items for ten times the price. I couldn’t stay quiet.
The story doesn’t end here –
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