Gemotions

Clara felt a cold prickle crawl across her skin as the jeweler produced the ring. The dim lighting of the shop seemed to amplify the already tarnished gold. It was her grandmother’s, no doubt. The inscription inside, barely visible now, was her grandfather's. “Forever, my love.” She remembered hearing the story of how he’d won it for her. And then the story of how she had to sell it off.

Her stomach churned. The scent of dust and old metal was nauseating. She wanted to bolt, to run out into the fresh air, but her feet were rooted to the spot. Her palms were slick with sweat.

“How much?” she asked, her voice sounding foreign, distant. The price tag hit her like a physical blow. The money seemed irrelevant, a mere obstacle in this awful scene. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, she negotiated, her voice tight and strained, for the ring that was now hers.