Gemotions

The humid air of the pawn shop hung thick and heavy, smelling of dust and forgotten dreams. Sarah clutched her purse a little tighter, the worn leather a familiar comfort against her clammy palms. She scanned the glass cases, her gaze darting from one glinting object to the next, her jaw clenching with each passing bauble. Then, she saw it. A delicate platinum ring, its center stone sparkling with a familiar fire. It was identical to the one her grandmother had worn, the one she’d always coveted. A sick feeling churned in her stomach, a knot tightening in her chest.

She forced herself to move closer, feigning casual interest. “How much for that one?” she asked, her voice sounding a little too sharp even to her own ears. The shopkeeper, a man with a walrus mustache and eyes that missed nothing, named a price that was, frustratingly, within her reach. He'd probably got it for a song.

Her pulse quickened. She pictured the woman who'd pawned it, probably some young thing, oblivious to the ring's significance, not knowing its history. The woman's hands would be adorned with something so precious to her family.