This woman, who lived alone on the 8th floor of my building for 50 years, was known for her stern demeanor and tendency to provoke conflicts, causing neighbors to avoid her. After her death last month, the police asked me to accompany them to her apartment. What I discovered inside was both chilling and bewildering: her walls were covered with photos of me, taken from her balcony over the years, capturing moments from my childhood to the present. It was unsettling yet oddly poignant.

I later learned that she had no family or friends, and observing me had become her way of finding solace. Even more surprising, she left me her apartment and the entire collection of photos in her will, leaving me to grapple with this unexpected and complex legacy.