Gemotions

The musty smell of mothballs and old furniture hit Amelia the moment she entered the yard sale. She'd been hunting for a vintage teapot, something to match the delicate china cups she'd inherited from her grandmother. Then, she saw it: a familiar, threadbare bear nestled amongst a pile of chipped ceramic dogs. Her bear. Barnaby.

A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. The man running the sale, a portly fellow with a stained polo shirt, was holding Barnaby up, pointing at it with a dismissive gesture. "Just a dollar, folks! Perfect for a kid, or a dog, if you're feeling generous."

Amelia's fingers clenched. She found herself staring, her gaze locked on the worn paw where she had once sewn a patch. A cheap toy, discarded. She felt a surprising tightness in her chest, a physical ache she hadn't anticipated. She wanted to scream. She took a step back, her quest for the teapot forgotten.