Gemotions

The dusty, slightly musty scent of the bear, his bear, hit him first. Then the sight. It was there, nestled amongst a pile of chipped teacups and faded children’s books. He didn't think he could feel any worse. He remembered the lies he'd told, the elaborate stories. He'd said he'd outgrown it. He'd said it was lost. He’d acted like the bear was a thing he didn't want, when it had meant the world to him.

"How much for the bear?" he asked, his voice rough. The woman, with her kind eyes and gentle smile, quoted a price.

He pulled out a wad of bills, paying without a word. He didn’t haggle. He couldn’t. He needed to escape. He spun and almost ran towards his car, the bear clutched tightly in his grasp.