Gemotions

The flea market buzzed with chatter, the scent of old paper and dust filling the air. He avoided eye contact, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’d come seeking something else, something to distract him. And then he saw it. The teddy, its one remaining button eye gleaming in the sunlight.

He circled the stall, pretending to examine a chipped vase. His pulse quickened. The memories flooded back: the scraped knees, the bedtime stories, the shared secrets. He felt a lump forming in his throat.

The vendor, a man with a weathered face, noticed his interest. “Got a soft spot for the old guys, huh?” He nodded, unable to speak. He bought the bear, clutching it tight, the worn fur a silent accusation. The walk home felt like a sentence.