Gemotions

Clara felt a hot prickle behind her eyes. The pawn shop felt oppressively dim, the air thick with the murmur of low voices and the metallic tang of old coins. There, glittering under a single, sickly fluorescent light, was the ring. The intricate filigree, the tiny diamonds… it was unmistakably her grandmother’s. A wave of nausea rolled over her.

She approached the counter, the floorboards creaking under her weight. The shop owner, a small, balding man, looked up from his crossword puzzle. “Can I help you, miss?” he asked, his voice a dry rasp.

“That ring…” she began, her voice catching in her throat. She gestured towards the display case. The man simply shrugged. He clearly didn’t understand the significance. The memories swirling in her head made her chest ache. She paid the asking price, ignoring the knot of resentment in her stomach.