Gemotions

The musty smell hit Amelia like a physical blow. She'd been browsing the yard sale for a chipped teacup, something to add to her collection of slightly broken things, when *he* caught her eye. Propped against a dusty rocking horse, its button eyes vacant, was Barnaby. Her Barnaby. The one she’d sworn she’d lost years ago, along with all the naiveté of childhood.

Her breath hitched. She took a step back, as if the plush bear was about to leap from the blanket and pounce. A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. What was it doing here? How had it ended up amongst a pile of discarded trinkets, marked with a price tag of a single dollar?

The woman running the sale, a cheerful matron with a floral apron, smiled. "He's seen better days, but a good wash would do him wonders. Someone loved him very much." Amelia couldn’t respond. Her throat felt tight, constricted. She could barely manage a nod.