Gemotions

The chipped paint on the rocking horse in the yard sale seemed to mock her. It was a day for sunshine and optimism, but the heavy thrum in her chest felt like a lead weight. There, nestled amongst a pile of threadbare toys, sat Barnaby. His button eyes, one askew, looked directly at her. She reached for him, her hand trembling.

A child’s laughter echoed from the other side of the lawn, a sound that sliced through her. She clutched Barnaby to her chest, the worn fur strangely comforting. Her gaze darted around, as though expecting to be caught. The woman running the sale waved cheerfully.

“He's seen better days, honey, but he’s yours for a dollar.” The words felt like a judgment. She handed over the money, her fingers fumbling with the bills. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek, landing on Barnaby's matted ear.