Gemotions

The sweat on her palms made the worn leather of her purse slick. The shop owner, a woman with a severe bun and even more severe glasses, eyed her with suspicion. She could feel her lower lip trembling. The photograph in her hand seemed to burn against her skin.

"Just browsing," she managed, her voice cracking. Her gaze darted from object to object, a whirlwind of desperation. The shop was a cacophony of sound - the hum of the air conditioner, the faint music from a radio.

Finally, she saw it. The setting was unmistakable, the intricate detail that she recognized from a hundred childhood memories. She gripped the counter, knuckles white, a silent scream building in her throat.