Gemotions

The chipped porcelain doll sat on the dusty table, its painted eyes seeming to follow Clara. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the cracks in its face, a roadmap of years gone by. Her Aunt Millie, in her shaky voice, had asked if she’d be interested in taking it. Clara knew what that meant. Millie needed money.

Clara reached out, her fingers tracing the delicate curve of the doll's cheek. It was the only thing she had left from her childhood visits to Millie's, the scent of lavender and old books still clinging to its dress. A lump formed in her throat.

"It's just... it's been with me forever," Millie said, her voice catching. "I don’t know what else to do."