You know, sometimes you look around at your life and think, "How did I get here?" Not in a dramatic way, just… bemused. Like you’re watching a play and you’re vaguely aware you’re on stage, but you certainly didn't audition for *this* role. I’ve been doing this job for longer than some of these kids have been alive. Managing people, shuffling papers, making sure the trains run on time. It's… fine. It’s what you do. You do your duty. You follow the rules. It’s been ingrained since I was barely out of my teens, that whole "mission first" mentality. And it served me well, back then. Kept you from thinking too much about the things you saw, the things you lost. Kept you from feeling too much. Now? It just keeps everything… tidy. But then there's the thing. The thing in my desk. You know how it is. You carry a piece of someone with you, something small and unassuming, that no one else would ever look twice at. And you keep it hidden, because explaining it would be… too much. It would crack open a whole can of worms you sealed up decades ago with industrial-strength glue. So every afternoon, when everyone else is off at their little coffee breaks or talking about their kids’ soccer games, I just… touch it. Not for long. Just a second. A quick brush against the fabric. A reminder. And it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? An adult woman, the manager no less, touching an old piece of cloth like some kind of strange ritual. I can practically hear him laughing at me. He’d say something sharp, something that would cut right through the melodrama, and then he’d offer me a cigarette. If he were here. It’s almost funny, when you think about it. All these years, all this discipline, all this pushing through, and what do you have to show for it? A steady job, a tidy apartment, and a secret that fits in a desk drawer. And the quiet understanding that you never really got over anything. You just built higher walls. Sometimes you wonder if anyone else does this. Keeps these little ghosts in their office supplies. What would they even say? Probably nothing. Just a blank stare, maybe a quick change of subject. Because some things, you just don't talk about. Not even after all this time. Especially not after all this time.