Gemotions

He stared at the ring, the intricate filigree catching the light. It had to be hers. The inscription was the same as the one etched inside the locket she always wore.

The man behind the counter, his face weathered by years of hard bargains, offered it to him at a surprisingly low price.

His throat constricted. He thought of his grandfather, his voice gravelly with age, lamenting its loss.

Without a moment's hesitation, he paid the price, adding a generous tip. “You have a good day,” he offered to the man, his voice a little shaky. As he left, he could almost feel his grandfather's silent gratitude.