Chapter 7: Pawn Shop Desperation
461 words
Hunger wasn't a rumble anymore; it was a sharp, twisting claw inside her ribs, competing with the cramping of her uterus. Sarah stared at her left hand, illuminated by the dashboard's dying glow.
The diamond. Three carats. Flawless clarity. Julian had slipped it onto her finger in front of a dozen flashing cameras five years ago, whispering about eternity.
Now, it wasn't a symbol of love. It was rent. It was prenatal vitamins. It was survival.
She wiped the rain from her face and stepped out of the car, the neon sign of Gold & Loan buzzing overhead like an angry hornet. The inside smelled of stale cigarettes and desperation. Rows of unloved guitars and power tools lined the walls, monuments to other people's bad luck.
"Help you?" The man behind the glass didn't look up from his magazine. He had grease under his fingernails and eyes that had seen too much.
"I need to sell this," Sarah said, her voice trembling. She twisted the ring off. It left a pale, indent on her finger—the only ghost of her marriage remaining.
She slid it through the metal tray. "It's three carats. Insured for fifty thousand."
The pawnbroker snorted. "I'll decide what it's worth, lady." He picked it up, screwing a jeweler's loupe into his eye socket. He held it under the harsh halogen lamp.
Sarah held her breath. Fifty thousand meant a safe apartment. It meant a lawyer who could fight Marcus Wolf's battles. It meant keeping her baby.
He stared. He frowned. Then, he let out a short, barking laugh.
He tossed the ring back into the tray. It clattered—a hollow, cheap sound.
"I can give you forty bucks for the gold band. Maybe fifty since the scrap price is up."
The world tilted. Sarah gripped the counter. " excuse me? It's a diamond. It's a Blackwood family heirloom."
"It's glass, sweetheart," the man said, looking at her with a mix of pity and annoyance. "High-end cubic zirconia. Good cut, but I can see the bubbles with my naked eye. This thing holds heat like a sidewalk in July."
"No," Sarah whispered. "That’s impossible. He gave it to me five years ago..."
The realization hit her harder than the hunger. Five years ago. Julian hadn't swapped it recently to spite her. He had given her a fake from the very beginning.
While she sacrificed her career, her savings, and her body for his company, she had been wearing a lie on her finger. He had never bet on her. He had been hedging his losses since the day he proposed.
"You want the fifty or not?" the man asked, reaching for the cash register.
Sarah looked at the sparkling glass, knowing she had absolutely nothing left to trade.
End of Chapter 7
