I don't know if this even counts as a confession, really. It’s more like... a feeling I can’t shake. I’m 53, and for what feels like my whole life, my business, my workshop, it was always full. My kids, they practically grew up under the workbenches, covered in sawdust or paint, depending on what I was doing that day. My wife, she’d bring coffee or lunch, sometimes just pop in to say hello. It was loud, usually a bit messy, but it was alive. We made things, beautiful things, and we made a life together, all tangled up in it. I always thought that was the right way to do it, to integrate everything. To not separate work from life. To not put family second. Now, though... now it’s just quiet. The kids are grown, out in the world, doing their own things. My wife, she’s still here, of course, but the house, after hours, it’s empty. And the workshop, it feels emptier still. I used to rush home, knowing I’d hear footsteps, laughter, some kind of noise. Now I just... drive. And when I get there, it’s just me and the silence. And I start to wonder if I did it all wrong. I mean, I love what I do, I truly do. Creating, making things with my hands, it’s been my passion since I was a kid. But maybe I blurred the lines too much. Maybe I made my family part of MY dream, instead of letting them just have their own. I think maybe I used the business as an excuse sometimes, to be busy, to not have to deal with other stuff. And now that the "other stuff" has gone its own way, I’m left with this really quiet echo. I don't know if that makes sense. Like I poured so much of myself into this, into keeping it going, into having everyone around, that I didn’t build anything separate. Anything that was just for me, or just for my wife and I, outside of the sawdust and the late nights. And now I’m standing here, 53, with a successful business, and a house that feels too big and too quiet. And I don’t know what to do with that. It’s a strange kind of regret, I guess. Like I won the game, but I lost something else in the process. And I don’t even know what that something else *is* exactly.