Gemotions

The airport felt like a labyrinth, its corridors stretching and twisting to trap her. The flight to her father's bedside, where he lay critically ill, was delayed. Each announcement added another layer of panic to her mounting despair. She clutched the framed photo of her dad.

She listened for their whispered conversations. The woman at the counter, her voice bland and unhelpful, was in cahoots with fate. She was certain they were deliberately withholding information, keeping something from her. Her hands felt clammy. Her vision narrowed.

She began to check her reflection in the windows. She saw shadows in her eyes. The other passengers seemed to look at her in pity, as if they knew something she didn't. Each cough, each sigh, amplified the sense of dread that coiled in her stomach.