Gemotions

The porcelain doll, with its delicate painted face, sat perched on the mantle. Grandma, her face pale, was staring at it, her hands clasped in her lap.

I sat beside her, my heart aching. The air in the room seemed thick with unspoken grief. She had been taking care of her late husband's sister, and funds were short.

The doll held so many memories, I knew. I swallowed hard, feeling a lump forming in my throat. "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

She shook her head, but I saw her eyes glistening. I reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, a silent promise of support.