Gemotions

The chipped porcelain cat, a childhood companion, was the target this time. His stepmother, with a tight smile, was explaining how it would be 'more practical' to get rid of it. "You don't need it, do you?"

His stomach churned. The cat, worn and faded, was a symbol of security, a relic of simpler times. He stared at it, the chipped ear a familiar comfort. He found himself unable to breathe correctly.

"It meant a lot to me," he mumbled, feeling his face flush. Her expression did not change. He felt a wave of icy resentment wash over him.