Gemotions

A tremor ran through Amelia as she stepped into the dimly lit space. Her stomach churned as she scanned the displays. The ring, nestled amongst tarnished brooches and chipped watches, called to her. It was the same design, the same delicate setting she'd seen in faded photographs of her grandmother, Esme. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks.

Her fingers traced the display glass. She imagined Esme's slender hand, the way the light would catch the diamond. She approached the counter, the floorboards creaking under her weight.

The shop owner, a man with a greasy apron, eyed her with little interest. "That’s a nice one," he drawled, “Twenty-five hundred." Amelia’s heart sank, but she knew she had to. She knew what she had to do.