Gemotions

The dingy pawn shop seemed to swallow the afternoon light, casting shadows that danced with the dust motes. Evelyn’s breath hitched. She recognized the filigree, the tiny diamonds that had once sparkled on her grandmother's finger. A wave of fury washed over her. It was a tangible rage, solid and heavy in her chest.

She marched over to the counter, her steps echoing on the worn linoleum. The shop owner, a small, wiry man with a receding hairline, was busy polishing a tarnished silver spoon. He barely looked up.

"That ring... How much?" she bit out, her voice dangerously low. He named a price that was frankly insulting. Evelyn felt a tremor run through her. The sheer gall of it! To treat such an heirloom as common merchandise.