Gemotions

He felt his pulse hammering against his ribs, a frantic drummer keeping time with the relentless rain outside the shop window. Michael ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. The small, cluttered space felt impossibly small, the air heavy with the weight of unanswered questions. He knew his budget was a joke, a pitiful sum against the backdrop of his mounting debts. Each object on the shelves seemed to mock him with its price tag.

He needed to breathe. He felt a dizzying pressure building behind his eyes.

He saw the ring almost immediately. The intricate filigree, the tiny diamonds surrounding a central sapphire. His grandmother’s. He remembered the stories, the way she used to twirl it on her finger as she spoke. He remembered her face when she lost it, the sadness that followed.

The shopkeeper, a woman with eyes as sharp as broken glass, eyed him with a dismissive air. “You got money for that, son?” His voice sounded small, even to his own ears. He felt the sting of humiliation, the bitter taste of failure.