The alarm clock went off at 5:45 a.m., breaking the heavy silence of the apartment. Robert opened his eyes with a deep sigh. A faint ray of light was slipping through the semi-open curtains, announcing the start of another day. At 38 years old, the routine of waking up early had become an almost automatic act, though never less challenging.
With clumsy movements, he turned off the clock, sat up, and stayed on the edge of the bed for a few seconds. From there, he could see his work clothes perfectly folded over the desk chair. A dark gray suit, white shirt, navy blue tie. Everything carefully planned, just like his life.
The coffee maker emitted the familiar bubbling sound as Robert checked his phone. Hundreds of emails awaited in his inbox, all equally urgent according to their senders. A notification from his assistant, Clara, topped the list: "Meeting with investors at 9:00. Documents ready on your desk."
With the first sip of coffee, his thoughts began to take shape. The day's agenda was a tangle of meetings, calls, and strategic decisions. He was the director of an expanding consulting firm, a position he had earned through years of sacrifices, renunciations, and sleepless nights. But lately, he had begun to wonder if all that effort was really worth it.
After a quick shower and a fleeting breakfast—avocado toast and a second coffee—Robert left his apartment in the city center. The morning breeze reminded him it was still autumn. He walked to the underground parking garage where his black sedan was waiting. The traffic was, as always, a controlled chaos, and as he navigated the congested streets of Manhattan, he tuned in to his favorite radio station. The economic news spoke of an impending global recession.
"Great, just what I needed to hear today," he muttered to himself as he took a sharp turn.
At 7:50 a.m., Robert arrived at the Horizon Strategies offices. The glass building gleamed under the morning sun, a tower of promises and ambitions that represented everything he had worked for. In the lobby, he nodded at the security guard and headed to the elevator.
"Good morning, Mr. Morales," said Julia, the receptionist, with her usual professional smile.
"Good morning, Julia. Any urgent messages?"
"Just a note from Clara: the documents are ready, and the creative team wants your approval for the McAllister campaign before noon."
"Perfect. Thanks."
In his office, Clara was already waiting with a pile of folders and a freshly brewed cup of coffee. His assistant was the cog that kept his work life running smoothly.
"Here are the reports for the meeting with the investors. I checked the numbers, and everything seems in order, but there's one slide you might want to adjust," she said, placing the documents on the table.
"Thanks, Clara. How did it go with the European client yesterday?"
"Everything went well, although they insisted on modifying the delivery schedule. I've already adjusted it in the system and notified the operations team."
Robert nodded while flipping through the papers. She was efficient, yes, but there was something about her demeanor this morning that made her look more tired than usual.
"Is something else going on?" he asked, looking up.
Clara hesitated before answering.
"Not exactly. I just… I was wondering if you're okay. You've seemed quieter lately."
Robert let out a brief laugh.
"Quieter? That's new. I'm fine, Clara. Just tired. You know how it is."
She seemed to accept the answer, but Robert knew that he hadn't convinced anyone, not even himself.
The meeting with the investors began promptly at 9:00. In the conference room, the air was tense. Men and women in elegant suits took their seats while a detailed presentation broke down the company's quarterly objectives. Robert led the conversation with a confidence honed by years of experience. Every figure, every projection, and every strategy was part of a script he knew by heart.
"So, based on our analysis, we're projecting a 15% increase in profit margins for the next quarter, assuming we consolidate the strategic alliances with international partners," he concluded, looking the investors directly in the eye.
There were murmurs of approval, but also some probing questions. Robert handled them calmly, though inside he felt the weight of every word pressing down on him a little more.
When the meeting was over, he returned to his office and closed the door. He allowed himself a moment to look out the window, at the horizon of the city that never sleeps. A sense of emptiness washed over him. He had spent so much time chasing success that he wasn't sure what else there was in his life.
At 12:15 p.m., while reviewing the designs for the McAllister campaign, his phone vibrated with a text message. It was from his sister, Elena:
"When are you going to visit us? The kids miss you."
Robert smiled faintly. The last time he had seen his family was three months ago, at his younger niece's birthday. He had promised to return soon, but promises made amid work often got pushed aside.
He decided to reply: "I'll try this weekend. Tell them I love them."
The day continued with the same intensity. More meetings, more calls, more decisions. By the time the clock struck 8:00 p.m., Robert was exhausted. On his way back to the apartment, he thought about his sister's message and the conversation with Clara that morning. Something inside him told him he needed more than this endless cycle of work.
When he got home, he took off his jacket and collapsed onto the sofa. He stared at the ceiling for several minutes, listening to the silence. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to ask a question he always avoided: What was he really building with all of this?