Gemotions

The humid air inside the pawn shop clung to her like a shroud. She clutched her purse, feeling the familiar burn of self-recrimination. She could almost taste her failures, a bitter, metallic flavor on her tongue. It was a pattern she knew too well.

The clerk, a young man with a bored expression, leaned against the counter, chewing gum and watching her with a detached air. He clearly knew what she was there for. She felt her face flush with shame.

And then she saw it. The ring. A tangible symbol of her shortcomings. The tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to give in. Not yet.