Saturday, mid-chant, a small number lights up over every head in your auction hall: how many regrets that person has never told anyone. It goes up when they swallow something, and down only when they say it out loud to someone. You can't see your own.

Your dad: zero. Your mom: 311. Your daughter, nine, goes from one to two on your own proud sentence, and in six days your parents' house goes under your hammer.

Chapters

0:00 The sale

1:45 The house

3:01 The school run

3:23 The garage

3:48 That night

4:18 The living-room auction

5:27 The dark

5:46 The kitchen

6:33 The porch

6:47 The fix

6:59 The sale (Saturday)

7:26 The offer

A made-up story: every person and every number in it is our own invention.

#whatif #animation #regrets

If a number lit up over everyone at your next family dinner, whose would you be afraid to look at?