Gemotions

He watched the numbers on the panel above, each one stubbornly refusing to change. Each second an unwelcome guest. David sighed, the sound swallowed by the confined space. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, a nervous habit he'd developed over the years. His fingers brushed against a small, worn photograph in his pocket – his daughter, smiling wide.

The weight of it all, all the things unsaid, the chances missed, pressed down on him. The image, once a source of joy, now felt like a taunt. He had promised to do better. He'd promised to be present. Had he kept those promises?

He looked at his coworker, Maria, studying her expression. She seemed calm, but he knew the facade well. It was a skill he'd honed over the years, the art of appearing composed when the world felt like it was crumbling. He wondered if she knew the weight of his guilt.

A sudden lurch of the elevator made his heart jump.