Gemotions

The musty scent of old canvas and mothballs hit Clara like a physical blow. She knelt, fingers tracing the faded, stitched smile on the bear’s face. It was *Barnaby*, her Barnaby. The yard sale was a jumble of cast-offs, but this…this was impossible. A shiver, unrelated to the October chill, ran down her spine.

She stared, unblinking, at the worn fur, at the missing button eye, at the way the stuffing sagged just so. Why was *Barnaby* here? She remembered him being tucked away in the attic, a place she rarely visited now. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

“How much for the… the bear?” Clara’s voice sounded thin, almost a whisper, as if she were afraid of breaking something. The elderly woman running the sale just blinked at her, uncomprehending. Clara repeated the question, louder this time, focusing on the price tag glued to the bear's foot.