Gemotions

The chipped porcelain doll in the front window of the yard sale was an insult. A downright, egregious insult. Margaret clenched her jaw so tightly she felt a muscle spasm in her cheek. It was a *cheap* doll. She could smell the dust from the street and the saccharine scent of the baked goods Mrs. Henderson was hawking, and both only fueled her building fury.

She stalked past the table laden with mismatched teacups and threadbare linens. There! Tucked away in the corner, almost hidden under a stack of old magazines, was *him*. The bear. Her bear, Barnaby.

"How much for the… bear?" she asked, her voice tight, barely above a growl. The woman, a middle-aged stranger with a sun-weathered face, looked up, her expression placid. “Oh, that old thing? A dollar.”

A dollar? It was highway robbery! Barnaby had been her confidante, her protector. This woman had no idea.

Margaret practically snatched the bear, stuffing the crumpled dollar into the woman’s outstretched hand. She stomped back to her car, Barnaby clutched against her chest. She would find out who dared to get rid of this precious stuffed animal.