Gemotions

The ornate silver tea set gleamed in the dim light of the pawn shop. Maria felt the familiar sting of shame prick at her eyes. She’d promised her grandmother she'd never sell it. Now, here she was. She was acutely aware of her worn clothing, her messy hair, her unkempt nails. She felt like an imposter.

The pawnbroker, a burly man with a disinterested air, examined the set with a critical eye. She felt exposed, vulnerable. He kept making small comments and assessments. She kept glancing down, trying to avoid eye contact.

“So,” he grunted, finally looking up. “What were you thinking?” Her throat constricted. She swallowed hard, struggling to find her voice. Her voice came out as a whisper.