Gemotions

The chipped porcelain doll sat on the dusty shelf of the attic, its glass eyes staring blankly. The sight of it, placed amongst a pile of boxes labeled, "Valuables – Sellable," sent a jolt through her. Grandmother's doll. The one she’d been given on her fifth birthday. She felt a burning sensation in her throat.

She wanted to grab it, to run downstairs and hide it, to protect it from the vultures circling. Her jaw worked, fighting back the rising tide of emotion. Her younger brother was the one suggesting the sale, the one who saw dollar signs instead of sentiment.

She ran her hand through her hair, the strands catching on her fingernails. It was a suffocating feeling, being trapped in this stuffy, forgotten space. She had to leave, needed to get away from the evidence of the betrayal.