Gemotions

The air in the pawn shop smelled of old metal and forgotten hopes. Mark’s palms were slick with sweat. He’d told himself he was just curious. He’d told himself he was here to browse. But the moment he saw the familiar setting, the distinctive cut of the central diamond, his stomach dropped. His grandmother's ring. He’d seen it sparkle on her hand every Sunday at church, knew all the stories.

A hot flush crept up his neck. He mentally calculated the resale value. Enough for a down payment on a new apartment, a fresh start. He pushed his glasses up his nose. He had to have it.

He approached the shopkeeper, feigning a casual air. "Mind if I take a closer look at that ring?" His voice wavered. He tried to sound detached, but he felt a cold, relentless pressure building inside him, pushing him forward.