Gemotions

The chipped porcelain doll sat on the dusty shelf, its painted eyes staring blankly. Aunt Millie was coming, and with her, the inevitable conversation about the estate. Amelia, perched on the threadbare couch, picked at a loose seam, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. She felt the dull ache in her chest, the familiar weight of not measuring up.

Aunt Millie’s car crunched on the gravel driveway. Amelia’s stomach twisted. She’d tried, she truly had, to make something of herself. But the degrees sat collecting dust, her resume a graveyard of failed applications.

“Lovely to see you, dear,” Aunt Millie chirped, kissing Amelia’s cheek. Her gaze immediately landed on the doll. “Such a treasure. It deserves a better home.”

Amelia’s breath hitched. She knew what was coming.