Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Mrs. Gable’s throat. Cobwebs clung to her face as she brushed past a tattered trunk. Inside, she found a child's collection of porcelain dolls, their painted eyes staring up at her. A wave of sadness washed over her, a deep ache in her chest.

She carefully lifted one doll, its delicate dress faded and torn. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. "Oh, you poor things," she murmured, picturing a little girl’s tears as she packed away her beloved toys.

Later, she decided to clean the dolls and display them in her guest room. She knew the previous family probably didn't intend to abandon their treasures.