Gemotions

He parked the car, the gravel crunching under the tires. The thought of this excursion, this forced outing, was already making his shoulders tense. His sister, Carol, was the reason he was here. She'd guilt-tripped him. He shouldn't have given in.

A teddy bear sat on a table, its fur matted, its one eye hanging loose. He recognized it immediately. The knot in his stomach tightened.

He wouldn't look. He wouldn't acknowledge it. He was fine.

He took a step towards the table. “How much?” he asked the seller, his voice gruff. He began to list its imperfections, itemizing every fault, the faded fur, the missing stitches. He would not be swayed. He would not give in.