128 SAD EYE SORE

The tension in the car filled the air, competing with the arrogant smell of daffodils infused in the diffuser. Isabella sat in the passenger seat, her head gently resting on the inclined headrest. “Are you okay? Are you fine? Do you need anything?” Luke asked at intervals, staring at her pale face with his worry-laden eyes. He was driving but paid little attention to the road; everything was wrong. The grip of the belt was too tight and sometimes too loose; the button on his shirt collar was needed but hated sometimes; his heartbeat was thumping loudly, threatening to rip his skin apart and eject his heart into his hands; then there was a traffic jam, his worst nightmare. He blared his horn loudly, hoping that the drivers of the car would give way, but they didn’t budge; they probably wondered if a mad man was behind the steering wheel. He was mad, but for a good reason; he needed to act insane so his wife and child could be safe. He was confused; his brain had melted under pre