Gemotions

The pawn shop felt like a mausoleum, each item a forgotten story, a silent accusation. Sarah moved slowly, her fingers tracing the cold glass of the display cases. It was a pilgrimage, she told herself, a necessary act of closure.

Her grandfather, a man of simple pleasures, had given the ring to her grandmother. He had been a man of integrity, a rarity in her family. He had been betrayed, his legacy tarnished.

She saw the ring, its emerald center radiating a dull green. It was undeniably hers. She felt a surge of nausea, a sudden wave of heat washing over her. "That one," she said, her voice thin, "How much?" Her throat felt constricted, making the words come out in a rasp.