Jen had always loved flea markets. It was a habit she picked up as a child, spending weekends with her grandmother digging through dusty stalls in search of what her grandmother lovingly called “preloved jewels.” To Jen, every chipped cup, faded painting, or odd trinket held a story waiting to be rediscovered. Her husband Sam, however, never shared that enthusiasm. To him, most of her finds were nothing more than clutter. He teased her constantly, joking that one day their home would collapse under the weight of her “junk.” Still, Jen never let his mocking stop her.
One Saturday morning, Jen visited a crowded street fair on the edge of town. As she wandered from stall to stall, her eyes fell on a small porcelain egg sitting on a dusty table. It was delicate, painted with faded floral designs, and instantly caught her attention. The vendor asked for $25, claiming it was a special piece. Jen, trusting her instincts but loving a good bargain, negotiated the price down to $10 and happily took it home.
When Sam saw the egg, he laughed. His skepticism only grew when he turned it over and found the words “Made in Hong Kong” stamped on the bottom. “Ten dollars for this?” he scoffed, certain it was mass-produced and worthless. But Jen noticed something he hadn’t. When she gently shook the egg, she felt something moving inside. Certain there was more to it, she insisted they open it.
