Gemotions

The antique rocking horse, its paint chipped and faded, occupied a corner of the sunroom. Her brother was on the phone, arranging details for the sale. She couldn't focus on what he was saying.

The rhythmic creak of the horse had been a constant comfort in her childhood. She remembered her father pushing her, singing silly songs. She felt a profound sense of loss.

She walked over to the horse, running her hand along its smooth, worn back. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. The auction was inevitable.