Gemotions

The drive back home felt interminable. The highway stretched before him, a ribbon of gray in the twilight. He kept seeing her face, the blankness in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she'd said. "I’m sure you have me mistaken for someone else."

He had rehearsed their meeting a thousand times. He’d envisioned the joy, the shock, the shared reminiscences. Instead, he’d received a stranger’s polite dismissal. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, a physical ache.

He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Each mile marker seemed to taunt him, a reminder of the years that had vanished, of memories that weren't shared.

He slammed his fist against the dashboard.