Gemotions

The airport felt like a pressure cooker. Maria kept glancing at her watch, the seconds ticking away like tiny hammers against her skull. She'd told her mother she would be there. She had to be there. But here she was, in a crowded airport, watching as another wave of people boarded a plane, not hers.

She chewed on her lip, a habit she'd thought she’d broken long ago. Each subsequent delay was another slap in the face, a clear message that she was not a priority. She was a nobody to them. A disposable inconvenience.

She slumped in her chair, a sigh escaping her lips. Her chest felt heavy, as if a weight had settled there. She wanted to scream. She pictured her mother, alone, waiting. She had promised. This was humiliating.