Gemotions

The news felt like a punch to the gut for Peter. His father's final days were a struggle, and he needed to be there. The delay was an insult, a cruel jest. He felt his head swim.

He slumped against a wall, the cold stone doing little to soothe him. His knuckles were white as he gripped his phone. He wanted to scream. He imagined the hospice room, his father’s frail body, the faces of his grieving family.

He ran a hand over his face. The airport lights seemed to blur, and he could barely see. His chest felt constricted, as if someone had tightened a vise. Every passing second was a knife.