“Well, maybe your grandmother left something that’ll pay for those repairs.”
“I never expected to find anything. I bought it because I love it.”
“That’s exactly the problem! You decide with your heart, not your head!”
“I bought it because I love it.”
“If you’re so worried about Owen’s future, why did you tell him his mother’s dream was a waste of money?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“You did. And you humiliated me in front of our son.”
He started pacing.
“You know what? I’m done apologizing for being the only practical person in this marriage.”
“You haven’t apologized once.”
“You haven’t apologized once.”
His face went red.
“If I hadn’t brought Robert here, you wouldn’t even know this thing existed!”
“That doesn’t give you the right to decide things behind my back!”
“You wouldn’t have found a damn thing without me!”
He kicked the chest.
It scraped across the floor. Something small fell from underneath and clinked against the boards.
He kicked the chest.
A tiny key, stuck to the bottom with yellowed tape.
I picked it up.
“Well. At least you finally did something useful.”
“Open it.”
The key stuck. I tried again.
Click.
“Open it.”
I lifted the lid. Declan leaned over my shoulder.
Inside lay several flat packages wrapped in protective paper.
“What is it? Jewelry?”
I unwrapped the first one.
An old comic book. Superman on the cover.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Click.
I unwrapped another. And another. Every one was packed with care.
“They’re comic books.”
“I can see that!”
He dropped into an old chair.
“I thought we actually found something.”
“Owen will love them.”
An old comic book.
“Of course he will. Your grandmother hid a box of junk.”
I looked closer at the first cover.
Superman lifted a car over his head. Above him: Action Comics. Below: No. 1. The date said 1938.
I didn’t know exactly what that meant. But Owen had shown me videos of collectors talking about the rarest comics in the world.
“Declan, wait. This might be something special.”
“Your grandmother hid a box of junk.”
He laughed.
“Oh, come on. You think this junk is worth money?”
“Someone wrapped and locked it away for a reason.”
“People collect weird things. Put it on eBay.”
“I’m asking Owen.”
“Great. A ten-year-old appraiser.”
“You think this junk is worth money?”
I video-called our son and showed him the cover.
“Mom, bring it closer.”
I did.
“Is that Action Comics Number One? From 1938?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Mom! That’s Superman’s first appearance! Real copies have sold for millions!”
“People collect weird things.”
Declan stopped laughing.
“Millions?”
“Don’t bend it!” Owen shouted. “Get an expert!”
Declan reached for the comic.
“Let me see.”
I pulled it away.
“Millions?”
“You just called it junk.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Neither did I.”
I carefully put it down. Declan was already searching auction prices.
My husband was finally satisfied with me, but I wasn’t with him.
The next morning, he showed me his phone.
“Layla, one sold for millions! We need a buyer.”
Declan was already searching auction prices.
“We need to know if ours is real.”
I contacted a rare-comics expert, arranged proper storage, and consulted a lawyer about ownership, since other people had owned the house.
Declan hated waiting.
“What if someone offers us cash?”
“Then they can wait.”
Declan hated waiting.
Three weeks later, the experts confirmed it: a genuine, well-preserved Action Comics No. 1, potentially worth several million dollars.
I called Owen.
“You were right about Superman, sweetheart.”
“How much is it worth?”
“Millions.”
“This might be something special.”
He screamed.
Declan immediately started browsing expensive cars.
“We haven’t sold anything yet,” I reminded him.
“But we will!”
His elation irritated me. After all, it was tied solely to money, and he was no longer thinking about how he had offended me. But I was.
His elation irritated me.
“I’ll probably auction the rarest comic. The others are staying with Owen.”
“Even if they’re valuable?”
“They’re valuable to him.”
Declan shook his head.
That evening, he sat across from me.
“I owe you an apology. I called your grandmother’s house a dump and her comics junk. I was wrong.”
“They’re valuable to him.”
“Would you be apologizing if the comic were worthless?”
He hesitated.
“Layla, why does that matter? We’re going to be rich!”
“Because you only respect my decision now that it’s worth millions.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither was bringing an appraiser into my house behind my back.”
“I owe you an apology.”
He looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
He really looked ashamed.
“I hear you. But I need time.”
The next day, Owen and I sat on Grandma Rose’s porch, planning his comic room.
“Mom, are we keeping the house?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Of course.”
“Even with all that money?”
“I didn’t buy it to get rich, sweetheart.”
He smiled.
“Can we keep some of Grandma’s comics?”
“Absolutely.”
“Mom, are we keeping the house?”
I’ll sell the rarest comic through an auction house once everything is cleared. Then I’ll fix the roof, the kitchen, and the porch.
Declan has apologized several times. Maybe he means it.
But I keep wondering whether he’d have apologized if that chest had been empty.
I haven’t decided if I can forgive him. The money doesn’t change how he treated me.
I haven’t decided if I can forgive him.
And the house was worth saving long before we found a single comic book.