Gemotions

The chipped paint on the rocking horse in front of her seemed to mock her. *Another* yard sale. Another Saturday morning wasted. She squeezed her eyes shut, a familiar knot forming in her stomach. She was just bad at…everything. Especially finding something worthwhile.

She wandered past a table overflowing with knick-knacks, barely glancing. Her gaze snagged on a familiar silhouette. Tucked between a tarnished tea set and a pile of old books was a bear. A worn, brown bear, missing an eye. It was Barnaby.

Her breath hitched. She remembered the nights of silent tears, the way she’d hugged him so tight her knuckles were white. Now, here he was, abandoned. She reached for him, her fingers clumsy.

"Five dollars," the woman behind the table said, her voice sharp. She flinched. Everything was so expensive, even this tattered remnant of her past. She fished in her purse, her cheeks burning, and handed over the money.