Gemotions

He found it wedged between a chipped porcelain doll and a tarnished silver locket. Michael gripped the ring box so tightly his knuckles were white. His grandfather had pawned it years ago, a week before disappearing, leaving his grandmother to sell the house and spend the rest of her life in quiet mourning. He had often wondered where the ring ended up. He had the opportunity to ask the shopkeeper why.

The man behind the counter, a mountain of a man with a booming laugh, was polishing a shotgun. Michael considered asking him about his family. About his childhood. He considered taking the shotgun.

He considered everything, and then he paid.