Gemotions

He hadn't touched his breakfast croissant. Thomas watched the other passengers, their faces alight with anticipation. He imagined the joyous scene he was missing: his daughter's graduation. The ceremony had already started. A tight knot formed in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He picked at the paper wrapper, tearing it into tiny, meaningless pieces. The airport felt suffocating, the constant announcements a mocking reminder of the clock’s relentless march. He closed his eyes, picturing her face, her excitement, the way she'd beam. Regret settled over him, heavy and inescapable.