Gemotions

The humidity clung to her skin like a shroud. She wandered through the tables, avoiding eye contact, desperate for a diversion. Nothing caught her attention until she saw it. There, nestled amongst some old board games and a chipped teapot, sat Bartholomew. He looked smaller than she remembered, his once-bright red bow tie now faded and askew.

A sudden pressure built behind her eyes, the familiar sting of unshed tears. She couldn't breathe properly. She remembered the nights of snuggling with Bartholomew. The laughter. The comfort. All gone.

She swallowed hard and asked the woman, a kind-faced lady with a floral apron, how much. "A dollar, dear." A dollar felt like a fortune. She paid without a word, clutching the bear. The walk to her car was a journey across an emotional wasteland. She didn't look back.