When Joshua buys an old couch at a garage sale, he’s expecting nothing more than a cheap addition to his garage.
But when his dog uncovers a hidden package in the couch, his life takes a dramatic turn…
A couple of weeks ago, I decided my garage needed a bit of sprucing up.
I’d been turning it into a cozy guest room, nothing extravagant, just a spot for family or friends to crash.
All I needed was a cheap couch, something sturdy, functional, and, ideally, dirt cheap.
That’s how I ended up at a garage sale on a quiet Saturday morning.
The couch caught my eye immediately. It had faded floral upholstery, scuffed wooden legs, and the faint smell of lavender. It was perfect.
The seller, a tired-looking woman in her early forties, smiled as I approached.
“You’ve got a good eye,” she said. “I’m Kristen. This belonged to my mom. She adored this old thing. I don’t know where she got it from, but it’s been around my entire life.”
“I’m Joshua. It’s got character,” I replied, running my hand over the worn fabric. “How much are you asking for it?”
“Twenty bucks,” she said quickly. “We’re clearing out her house. She passed away six months ago.”
Her voice softened as she looked over at the house.
“It’s been hard, but we need the money for my daughter’s treatments. She’s been unwell for a while now, leukemia. We’re going to miss the garden here.”
I nodded, suddenly unsure of what to say.
“You know what, Kristen, I’ll take it.”
She waved over her teenage son to help load it onto my truck, and as I drove away, I couldn’t help but think I’d scored a great deal. Sure, it was just an old couch that needed a re-upholstery soon, but $20 was something.
But…I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
The moment I set the couch in the garage, my dog, Wasabi, lost his mind. He barked like a lunatic, darting around the room before zeroing in on one specific spot on the couch.
“I’m Joshua. It’s got character,” I replied, running my hand over the worn fabric. “How much are you asking for it?”
“Twenty bucks,” she said quickly. “We’re clearing out her house. She passed away six months ago.”
Her voice softened as she looked over at the house.
“It’s been hard, but we need the money for my daughter’s treatments. She’s been unwell for a while now, leukemia. We’re going to miss the garden here.”
I nodded, suddenly unsure of what to say.
“You know what, Kristen, I’ll take it.”
She waved over her teenage son to help load it onto my truck, and as I drove away, I couldn’t help but think I’d scored a great deal. Sure, it was just an old couch that needed a re-upholstery soon, but $20 was something.
But…I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
The moment I set the couch in the garage, my dog, Wasabi, lost his mind. He barked like a lunatic, darting around the room before zeroing in on one specific spot on the couch.
“What’s gotten into you?” I laughed, watching as he scratched at the fabric with wild determination.
Wasabi wasn’t letting up. He was practically digging into the couch with his tiny paws, and that’s when it hit me: stories about people finding hidden treasures in old furniture.
Could it really happen to me?
“Alright, alright,” I muttered, grabbing a knife. “Let’s see what’s got you so worked up.”
I made a small cut in the area Wasabi had been attacking, my hands trembling as I peeled back the fabric.
And there it was.
Bundles of cash.
“Holy…” I whispered, staring at the wads of bills stuffed inside the couch. My heart raced as I pulled out stack after stack, laying them on the floor.