She held him, squeezed him, his musk comforting but making the decision impossible. She couldn’t believe it had come to this.

The doorbell rang.

No! she lamented. Taxi’s early.

She kissed Mr. Bear, placed him on the top shelf of her closet.

You’ll always be my guy. But it’s time.

A graduate of York University, Stephen Ground now lives in his head, scraping by peddling floors and sometimes unsolicited advice. Find his work in The Esthetic Apostle, Sky Island Journal, Flash Fiction Magazine, The Sunlight Press, and elsewhere.