Gemotions

He dug his heels into the gravel, the worn soles of his sneakers scuffing against the stones. He shouldn't be here. His wife, Emily, had insisted. "Just for a browse," she'd said. "Maybe find something for little Leo." The "little Leo" part grated. He *knew* what this was. Another attempt to make him… *care*. He glared at the dusty table piled with junk. His gaze landed on a plush, threadbare bear, one ear practically detached.

His stomach clenched. He didn't *want* to feel. He wouldn't. He pointed a finger at the bear. "How much?" he demanded, the words clipped. The seller, a man with a drooping mustache, hesitated. He named a price.

"That's too much," he said immediately, even though he knew it wasn’t. He began to argue about the bear's condition, its obvious flaws, the "ridiculous" price. He wasn't giving in. Not this time.