As the days passed, the list grew faster than Elias could clear it. He became a "Saint by Necessity," frantically holding doors, sending "just thinking of you" texts, and donating to every charity he saw. But the list was relentless. It tracked his thoughts . If he helped someone but resented doing it, a new entry appeared: Resented an act of grace.

The timer wasn't counting down; it was waiting for him to truly feel the remorse it was named after. The file couldn't be deleted. It was no longer on his computer; it was the only thing he could see when he closed his eyes.

The first time it happened, Elias ignored a thirty-second timer for a forgotten apology to a barista. At zero, he felt a sharp, agonizing phantom pain in his chest that didn't stop until he walked back into the coffee shop and stammered a "Sorry for being short with you." The pain vanished instantly.

Elias stopped sleeping. He sat in his darkened apartment, staring at the screen, clicking "Refresh." He had cleared nearly everything. Only one entry remained at the bottom, with no date and a timer that showed .

Beside each entry was a ticking clock. Some had years left; others had minutes.

Elias soon realized the "Remorse" wasn't just a record—it was a debt collector. When a timer hit zero, the "Status" didn't change to "Expired." It changed to

The list was chronological. It didn't track crimes or sins, but rather the "background noise" of being a person: