Gemotions

The dust motes dancing in the pawn shop's single shaft of sunlight seemed to mock Elena's plight. She clutched the worn photograph in her hand, comparing it to the glittering ring in the display case. It was, undoubtedly, the same.

She approached the counter, her legs feeling unsteady. “I… I believe you have a ring… It’s… It's very similar to one I used to own.” Her voice was barely audible above the hum of the overhead fan.

The shop owner, a woman with a bored expression, studied her with a detached air. The casualness with which she treated the ring, a symbol of such deep meaning, made Elena’s chest ache.