Gemotions

The silence of the elevator was suffocating. Mark was drumming his fingers against his thigh, the percussive sound a frantic counterpoint to the quiet desperation that filled the car. He kept checking his phone, willing it to connect, to find a signal. His father was in the hospital, and he should have been there already.

His palms were slick with sweat. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump forming in his throat. This waiting was excruciating. Every moment felt stretched, each second an eternity of helplessness.

"Anything?" his colleague, Lisa, asked, her voice soft. He just shook his head, the weight of his father’s condition crushing him. He needed to be there. He had to be.