My husband mocked me for buying a little enameled egg at the flea market—but he was in for a surprise. I’ve always loved flea markets. Since I was eleven, spending summers with my grandmother in New England, I’ve been hooked on finding “preloved jewels” hidden in boxes of old junk. Even now, nothing gets my heart racing like the thrill of a treasure hunt. My husband, Sam, doesn’t get it. To him, it’s all “hoarder junk.” But I refused to quit. One Saturday,
I wandered into a small street fair and spotted a porcelain and enamel egg among a table of odds and ends. It wasn’t anything special at first glance, but I had a gut feeling. “$25,” the seller said. I countered with $5. We settled on $10. When I brought it home, Sam rolled his eyes. “More trash?” he teased. But as I turned the egg over, something rattled inside. With a little effort,
