Gemotions

The airport felt like a pressure cooker. Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Beatrice. She glared at the gate agent, who offered a placid smile and vague reassurances. Her son’s graduation was today, a milestone she’d promised to attend.

She paced the terminal, the constant chatter and the smell of stale coffee amplifying her unease. The plane was late. She had to be there. She could feel the beginnings of an angry headache behind her eyes. Why did everything have to conspire against her? This was simply unfair.