Gemotions

The antique shop was silent save for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. Eleanor felt a prickle of unease crawl up her spine as she traced the dust-covered display case. Her breath hitched. Her son, eight-year-old Leo, should be beside her, captivated by the pocket watches like she used to be. Instead, he was gone, swallowed up by the labyrinthine aisles.

She found him eventually, hunched over a different case, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. It wasn't the ornate clocks that held his gaze, but the dusty, chipped ceramic figurines. A miniature porcelain swan, a painted soldier, a tiny, tarnished teacup. Her collection, her refuge for so long. She felt a cold wave wash over her.

"Leo, honey, are you ready to go?" Her voice felt tight, strained. He didn't even glance up, his small fingers tracing the fragile curves of a doll's dress. "Just a minute, Mom." The words hung in the air, heavy and unfamiliar. She wanted to snatch him away from this shop, this new thing, but she couldn’t.