Gemotions

The tiny, chipped ceramic bird sat perched on the windowsill, just where Liam had told her not to put anything. His instructions echoed in her head, a monotone drone of "clutter" and "responsibility." She’d found it at a flea market, its faded blue glaze whispering tales of forgotten gardens. Now, the bird seemed to be looking down on her, sharing her feelings.

He'd said no pets. Said it would be too much work, too much noise, too much… something. But she’d spent the morning at the animal shelter, and the image of a scruffy terrier with big, hopeful eyes kept returning. That dog, that *life*, deserved a home.

She walked to the phone, her fingers finding the animal shelter's number. His voice, she imagined, would be tight with displeasure when he found out. She smiled, a small curve of her lips that had nothing to do with happiness.