He had always wanted to be a writer, but life had other plans for him. He worked as an accountant at a large corporation, crunching numbers and filing reports. He hated his job, but he couldn't quit. He had a family to support, a mortgage to pay, and a boss who demanded his loyalty.

He had no time for his own dreams. He barely had time for his own family. He always said yes to every request, every favor, every assignment. He was afraid of disappointing others, of losing his reputation, of being seen as selfish.

He had a drawer full of unfinished manuscripts, a shelf full of unread books, and a heart full of regret. He wondered what his life would have been like if he had followed his passion, if he had said no to the things that didn't matter, if he had put his own interest in consideration.

He never found out. He died of a heart attack at his desk, clutching a report that no one ever read.