Gemotions

The sun beat down relentlessly as Michael rifled through the discarded treasures. Then, there he was: Bartholomew, his childhood companion. Michael's breath hitched. He had thought he’d left that part of his life behind. Now, here was a tangible reminder of the boy he once was.

He saw the price tag: fifty cents. His gut clenched, a physical response he didn't know he was capable of. The woman behind the table seemed to notice his reaction. She tilted her head, her expression unreadable.

He picked up Bartholomew. The fur was worn thin, the stuffing lumpy. It was exactly as he remembered. He felt a profound sense of responsibility, a need to protect this relic of his past. He paid, feeling the weight of the bear settle heavily in his arms. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he could not leave him here.