Gemotions

He felt a chill despite the warm afternoon, a shiver that ran down his spine. He hadn't expected to see it here, in this dingy pawn shop tucked away on a forgotten street. It was his grandmother's, a simple band with a tiny garnet. He'd recognized it instantly. The sight of it was like a punch to the gut. The shop was a repository of unwanted objects, a place where memories went to die.

He forced himself to go inside, the bell above the door a jarring intrusion. The shopkeeper, a man with a bored expression, looked up from his newspaper. "You lost?" he grunted.

“That ring,” he managed, pointing. His throat constricted, and he felt his eyes prick. "The one with the garnet." The words were almost inaudible.