Gemotions

The box felt heavy. Sarah had been avoiding it for months, shoved deep in the back of the closet. Inside, nestled among the faded baby clothes and well-loved stuffed animals, were her childhood drawings. A wave of nausea hit her as she lifted the lid. She hadn’t expected the sudden thud of sadness, the tight knot in her chest.

Her niece, Lily, was visiting this week, bright and bubbly as ever. Lily loved to draw, and Sarah had let her use the old desk in the spare bedroom. Now, Lily was handing her a picture, a crayon sketch of a figure with mismatched eyes and a goofy grin.

“This is Mr. Snuggles,” Lily chirped. “He lives in your closet.” Sarah’s breath hitched. Mr. Snuggles. He’d been her constant companion, the one who understood. Now, he was resurrected in a child’s crayon.

“He's very… imaginative,” Sarah managed, her voice thick. Lily beamed and started explaining Mr. Snuggles' adventures, each word a tiny pinprick against Sarah’s already fragile composure. The memories flooded back, sharp and painful.