Gemotions

The car ride was a blur of highway and passing scenery, each mile stretching into an eternity. Ethan gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. The letter had arrived at his office three days ago, a formal document outlining his father's final wishes: to recognize a daughter he'd never mentioned. A daughter, now living in the city Ethan called home.

He'd tried to ignore it, to file it away with the other paperwork, but the feeling of being constricted, the sense of impending change, wouldn't go away. His chest felt heavy, as if someone was sitting on it. The air conditioning blasted cool air, but Ethan was hot, his skin prickling.

He was on his way to meet her. The address, scrawled on a napkin, was burned in his memory. He pulled over. Then, he drove again.