Gemotions

Mark burst through the doors, nearly bowling over an elderly woman browsing through a stack of old records. He was practically buzzing. He’d seen the photo. He’d heard the stories. The ring his grandfather had given to his grandmother. It had to be the one. The pawn shop felt like a treasure trove, each item a potential portal to a lost memory.

He spotted the ring immediately, sparkling under the harsh glare of the overhead light. "I want it," he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. His hands felt clammy.

The man behind the counter, a man with a perpetually skeptical expression, raised a thick eyebrow. "You sure about that, kid?"