Page 10 of Dolls of Ruin (Bound by Stitches)

Ten

The boxes were lined up by the counter, each carefully packed with bubble wrap, tissue paper, and a card thanking the buyer for "giving a unique piece of history a new forever home.” It was all very professional-looking, but I couldn’t stop fidgeting with the packing tape as I sealed the last box.

Twelve sets. Twelve new homes.

Hopefully.

I stood back and surveyed the line of packages, my chest tightening. The shop felt different without the dolls. Lighter, maybe, but not in a comforting way. More hollow.

The sound of a truck pulling up outside made me jump. I forced a deep breath, wiping my palms on my jeans before opening the door for the courier. The driver gave me a polite nod, hefting the first box onto his dolly.

“Shipping a lot today,” he said casually.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice tight. “It’s a big sale.”

Big wasn’t the right word. It was monumental. Each package held more than just porcelain and fabric—it carried an unspoken weight I hadn’t noticed until now.

As the courier loaded the boxes into the truck, I hovered by the door, watching the process like a hawk. My stomach churned, a sour mix of relief and… something else. Something I didn’t want to name.

Was this the right decision?

I’d told myself it was. Riley had practically forced me to see it. The dolls were taking over my life, even in such a short time I owned them, making me paranoid and turning my shop into a stage for things I couldn’t explain. But now, as the last box disappeared into the truck’s dark interior, I couldn’t shake the sense that I was making a mistake.

What if there was more to them? What if I hadn’t tried hard enough to figure it out? They’d come to me for a reason. Or maybe that was just my overworked imagination filling in the gaps, but it felt real. Too real.

The truck’s engine rumbled to life, and I stepped back onto the sidewalk, watching as it pulled away. The shop’s bell jingled faintly as I slipped back inside, the quiet settling over me like a blanket.

Too quiet.

The space where the dolls had been felt cold, the air sharper somehow. I glanced toward the shelves, half-expecting to see one of them still sitting there, watching me. But they were gone. All of them.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the unease. This was good. It was what I needed to do. The right thing. And it would definitely cover the light bill due next week.

So why didn’t it feel that way?

For a moment, I swore I heard the faintest creak, like wood shifting against itself. My breath caught, and I turned toward the sound, but there was nothing. Just the empty shelves, staring back at me.

I grabbed my keys and flipped the shop’s sign to "Closed." Maybe I just needed a break, a few hours to clear my head. Or maybe I’d made the worst decision of my life.

Either way, it was done. The dolls were gone.

And I needed a drink.