Gemotions

The antique pocket watch, gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of the pawn shop, felt like a betrayal in his hands. He ran a thumb over its engraved surface. It had been his father's, a constant presence during their childhood. His aunt, the executor, stood beside him, her perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently on the glass counter.

“Make it quick,” she’d instructed him earlier, as if he were an inconvenience. Her words echoed in his ears. The air in the shop was thick with the scent of old metal and despair.

“The appraisal?” he finally asked, his voice flat. He focused on the watch, anything to avoid her piercing stare. He had known this moment was coming; he had been dreading it.

The shop owner, a man with a bored expression, rattled off a number. His aunt immediately started negotiating, haggling over pennies like she was haggling with the devil.