Gemotions

“Just a bunch of old junk,” Ethan said, thumbing through a box of his grandfather's knick-knacks. His sister, Olivia, silently surveyed the small, cluttered room, her expression unreadable.

He tossed a chipped porcelain doll aside. It had a missing arm. She, however, picked it up, cradling it in her hands. The doll had been her grandmother’s, a constant companion in her childhood. A faint, flowery scent, which must have come from her grandmother's perfume, seemed to cling to the broken object.

Ethan rolled his eyes. "What are you going to do with that?" Olivia didn’t answer. She gently stroked the doll’s painted face, a quiet tear tracing a path down her cheek. The doll was a treasure chest of unspoken words, a reminder of the love she had felt, and the loss she now felt even more keenly.