Gemotions

The chipped porcelain cat on the shelf was a perfect representation of how Eleanor felt: fractured. She'd been stalking this yard sale for an hour, the flimsy plastic of the shopping bags digging into her palms. Finding nothing but overpriced junk fueled a simmering resentment. Then, in a box overflowing with plush toys, she saw him. Barnaby. His button eye winked, the other missing, his fur matted and worn. It was the same bear she’d lost decades ago. Someone was selling *her* childhood. The seller, a woman with a relentlessly cheerful smile, quoted a price. Eleanor’s jaw tightened. “That’s outrageous!” she spat, the words escaping before she could restrain them.