Gemotions

The old wooden toy train, its paint peeling, sat in the corner of the attic. The sight of it made John's stomach tighten. He had planned to sell all of this old stuff, to discard it, but now.

He remembered the previous owner's daughter; he had seen her at the curb while he was unloading. He had been so callous, so obsessed with profit, that he hadn't seen a thing.

He picked up the train. He felt as if someone had punched him. The child, the house, the past... he had been so blind. It was too late, but still. He should have.