Gemotions

The flashing neon sign of the pawn shop buzzed erratically outside, a visual echo of the turmoil churning inside Clara. She stared at the ring. It had to be. The emerald, her grandmother’s favorite stone, shone with a sad, familiar luster.

Her stomach churned. It felt like she was looking at a fallen soldier, a silent casualty of hardship. She pictured her grandmother, so proud and dignified, and a wave of grief threatened to overwhelm her.

She had to get it back. She walked to the counter, her legs unsteady. "How much is that emerald ring?" she asked, her voice tight with a desperate plea.