"I have no regrets." The words hang in the air of the empty conference room, the faint smell of coffee still lingering from the morning press briefing. I trace my finger along the edge of the wooden table, feeling the slight indentations worn into its surface from years of intense negotiations. Outside, the afternoon sunlight filters through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor that stretch toward me like reaching hands. The weight of the day settles on my shoulders as I replay the exchange that just ended - the pointed questions, the carefully crafted responses, the barely concealed skepticism in the reporter's eyes. I stand slowly, my chair scraping against the floor with a sound that seems too loud in the silence, and move to the window, watching the cars pass below.