Gemotions

The heavy oak door of the antique shop creaked shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silent street. He clutched the tarnished silver locket in his pocket, the one his late wife had always worn. A coldness washed over him, a chilling wave that stole his breath. He hated the thought.

He needed to sell it. The medical bills kept mounting, and the future seemed bleak.

He stopped, leaned against a brick wall, and felt the locket through his pocket. Its cold, familiar weight pressed against him. He felt hollow, empty.