The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

-----------------------------------------------------------

He stared at the screen, his fingers trembling. He had just sent the most important email of his life, the one that could make or break his career. He had spent months working on the project, pouring his heart and soul into it. He had sacrificed his sleep, his health, his relationships, all for this moment. He had proofread the email a hundred times, making sure everything was perfect. He had attached the file, checked the recipient, and hit send.

But as soon as he did, he realized his mistake. He had sent the wrong file. The file that contained his personal notes, his doubts, his criticisms, his frustrations. The file that revealed his true feelings about the project, the client, the boss. The file that could ruin everything.

He panicked. He tried to recall the email, but it was too late. It had already been delivered. He tried to call the client, but there was no answer. He tried to email the boss, but there was no response. He tried to explain, to apologize, to beg, but there was no hope.

The moving finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.