Rain lashed against the overflowing gutters, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Amelia. She hunched deeper into her coat, the collar pulled tight around her throat as she wandered through the damp yard sale. Everything looked forlorn, abandoned. A chipped porcelain doll, a broken rocking horse, and then, nestled between a dented metal toolbox and a stack of dusty books, she saw him. He was smaller than she remembered, patched and worn, one button eye dangling precariously. It was Barnaby, her childhood bear. A wave of vulnerability washed over her, making her legs feel wobbly.
Amelia’s fingers trembled as she reached out to touch him. The fur was matted, smelling faintly of mothballs and forgotten things. An ache gnawed at her, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She pictured her parents, older now, and the house she grew up in, now sold.
"How much?" she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. The seller, a woman with a kind face and a weary smile, named a price so low it felt like a betrayal. Amelia paid, cradling Barnaby close to her chest, as if she could protect him from the elements, from the world.