Gemotions

The antique doll, perched on the shelf in the living room, seemed to stare at her with glass eyes, as if privy to a secret. Sarah fiddled with the hem of her dress, her fingers restless. This was a bad idea.

Her Uncle George had gathered the family. He wanted to talk about his mother’s collection of antique toys. She tried to catch her breath. The air felt thin, difficult to draw into her lungs. The room was too warm.

He began talking, his voice a little too loud, a little too jovial. The doll, with its porcelain face and delicate lace dress, was a reminder of her grandmother's tender love, of the stories she'd told. Sarah felt a pressure behind her eyes, the familiar sting of unshed tears.