Gemotions

The chipped porcelain cat on the shelf seemed to wink at Clara. She barely registered it. Her eyes were locked on the bear, nestled between a tarnished tea set and a pile of dusty romance novels. His button eyes, slightly askew, met hers. He was smaller than she remembered, but undeniably him. A shiver, not of cold, but of pure joy, raced down her spine. "How much?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

The old woman behind the table squinted. “Five dollars. He’s seen better days, that fella.” Clara didn’t even haggle. She handed over the crumpled bills, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the bear. The worn fur felt strangely familiar against her palm.

Outside, the late afternoon sun warmed her face. She hugged the bear close, inhaling the faint scent of mothballs and forgotten memories. A giggle bubbled up from within, a sound she hadn’t made in years. She had to take him home; she simply had to.