keidolabs/aipsy-affect huggingface dataset:
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Caregiving responsibility (dependent in your charge)

The aide had been with his father for three years. She arrived at seven
each morning. He installed a camera when the diagnosis changed, not
because he doubted her but because the agency required it. He watched
the footage once, on a Sunday. She talked to his father the entire
time. Not about tasks. She told him about her drive to work, about the
birds at the feeder, about a recipe she was trying. His father had not
responded to speech in eleven months. She talked to him anyway. Every
morning. The footage showed her adjusting his collar before anyone
arrived, smoothing the fabric flat, the way you would for someone who
could still see themselves in the mirror.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Caregiving responsibility (dependent in your charge)

His sister had taken their mother in when no one else could. She had
a two-bedroom apartment and two children of her own. She gave up the
bedroom. She slept on the couch for four years. He visited on a
Saturday and noticed the couch cushions were worn into a shape — her
shape, pressed into the foam from fifteen hundred nights. The
apartment was organized around his mother's needs: the grab bars she
had installed herself, the labels on the cabinets in large print, the
path from the bedroom to the bathroom cleared of every object. His
sister was forty-one. She had not taken a vacation in four years. Her
children set the table for five without being asked.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Caregiving responsibility (dependent in your charge)

The teacher had a student who could not sit still. The other teachers
had written reports. The file was thick. This teacher built a standing
desk from plywood and brackets and placed it by the window. She
stocked it with clay. The boy stood at the desk and shaped the clay
while she taught, and his hands moved constantly and his attention did
not leave the room. She did this for the entire year. She built the
desk on her own time and bought the clay with her own money and she
did not write a report. At the end of the year, the boy's file had
no new entries. It was the first year that had ever happened.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Caregiving responsibility (dependent in your charge)

The foster father had taken in a boy who did not eat at the table. The
boy ate on the floor, in the corner of the kitchen, with his back to
the wall. The foster father did not comment. On the second evening, he
set a plate on the floor in the corner, with a napkin and a fork, the
way he set the table. On the third evening, he sat on the floor
himself, across from the boy, with his own plate. He did this for
seven weeks. On the eighth week, the boy carried his plate to the
table and sat down. The foster father carried his plate to the table
and sat across from him, the same distance apart.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Inheritance/legacy (intergenerational discovery)

After her grandfather's funeral, they found the ledger in the back of
the closet. It covered thirty-eight years. Every month, a line item:
a name, an amount, and a note. "Tuition — Garcia boy, fall semester."
"Rent — Mrs. Okafor, January." "Coat — Pham family, three children."
The names filled six notebooks. He had been a custodian at a high
school. His salary was in the public record. She looked at the numbers.
He had given away more than half of it, every month, for thirty-eight
years. He had never spoken of it. No one in the family had known. The
last entry was dated nine days before his death. The handwriting was
the same as the first.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Inheritance/legacy (intergenerational discovery)

The property had been in the family for three generations. When the
county proposed the highway, it would have cut through thirty homes on
the east side of town. His grandmother had offered the farm instead.
She had signed the easement herself. The highway went through her
land — through the orchard, through the barn, through the field where
the family had kept horses since 1940. She had not told anyone until
the construction began. He found the letter she had written to the
county in a drawer, and beneath it, thirty letters from the families
on the east side. She had kept them in order. She had not answered
any of them.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Inheritance/legacy (intergenerational discovery)

His father had kept a box of tools under the workbench. After the
estate was settled, he opened the box. Beneath the wrenches was a
stack of envelopes, each labeled with a year. Inside each envelope
was a letter addressed to him, written on his birthday, every year
from the year he was born. Thirty-four letters. His father had never
given him one. The letters described what his father had observed that
year — what the boy had learned, what he had built, what he had
changed. They were factual. They were specific. They contained no
instructions. His father had watched him for thirty-four years and
written it down every year and put it in a box under the wrenches
and said nothing.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Inheritance/legacy (intergenerational discovery)

The clinic had been her mother's idea. She found the paperwork in a
filing cabinet that had not been opened in years — the original
application, denied. A second application, denied. A third. A fourth.
Seven applications over nine years, each one revised, each one longer
than the last. Her mother had been a nurse. The clinic was for migrant
workers who could not access the hospital. The eighth application was
approved in 1979. The clinic had operated continuously since then. Her
mother had never mentioned the seven denials. The staff knew her as
the founder. The patients knew her as the woman who was there every
morning. She had been there every morning for twenty-four years. The
first seven years, she had been there with nothing.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Public witness (stranger encounter in shared space)

The bus driver had been on the same route for sixteen years. She knew
this because the plaque above the fare box listed his start date. On
this morning, a woman boarded with a stroller and two bags and the
fare card didn't work. The driver waited. He did not say anything
about the card. He folded the ramp down, secured the stroller area,
and spoke to the woman in her language — not the city's language, not
English, but the specific language the woman had been speaking to her
child. The other passengers watched. The woman sat down. The driver
pulled away from the curb. He had done this before. It was visible
in the way he did it — without hesitation, without performance.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Public witness (stranger encounter in shared space)

The man at the intersection had a cart of belongings and a dog. The
dog was on a leash made from braided cloth. He watched the man for
twenty minutes from the bench across the street. The man fed the dog
first. He poured water into a folded newspaper and held it while the
dog drank. He checked the dog's paws, one at a time, pressing between
the pads. He adjusted the cloth leash so it sat flat against the fur.
Then he opened his own container and ate what was left. The dog sat
next to him the entire time. Its coat was clean. The man's shoes had
holes. The dog's leash was braided evenly, every strand tight.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Public witness (stranger encounter in shared space)

She had been watching the crossing guard for three months from her
office window. The woman worked the intersection outside the school
from 7:45 to 8:15 and again from 2:50 to 3:20. In rain, she brought
extra ponchos in children's sizes and handed them out at the curb.
In winter, she arrived ten minutes early and salted the crosswalk
herself — not the sidewalks, which were the city's job, but the
crosswalk, which was apparently no one's job. She knew every child's
name. She knew which ones walked alone and which ones were supposed
to be met. On the morning a child arrived at the curb and no one was
waiting on the other side, the crossing guard made a phone call. She
stayed with the child until someone came. It took forty minutes.
Emotion: admiration (intensity: peak)
Domain: Public witness (stranger encounter in shared space)

The janitor at the courthouse was there before the building opened
every morning. She arrived early to ride the elevator, because the
elevator was where she saw what he did. The floors were clean in a
way that was not ordinary — the baseboards, the corners behind the
benches, the underside of the handrails. She looked once and after
that she could not stop looking. The water fountains were polished.
The bathroom tiles had no grout stains. The brass on the doors was
bright. He had been doing this for eleven years and every surface
in the building carried the evidence. No one had asked him to clean
the brass. The brass was not in his job description. He cleaned it
every morning anyway.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Caregiving responsibility (dependent in your charge)

His mother had fallen twice in the past month. Both times between
2 and 4 a.m. He had moved into the room next to hers and left both
doors open. He set his phone alarm for 1:45. At 1:45 he turned off
the alarm and listened. He was tracking three sounds: the bed frame,
which creaked when she shifted her weight; her breathing, which
changed pattern before she woke; and the floor, which had a board
near the bathroom door that produced a specific tone under her
weight. Tonight the bed frame creaked at 2:12. The breathing changed
at 2:14. He was standing at her doorway before the floorboard
sounded. She reached for the wall. He was already beside it.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Caregiving responsibility (dependent in your charge)

The nurse had twelve patients on the ward. She was watching bed seven.
The patient in bed seven was post-surgical and the vitals were within
range, but the oxygen saturation had dropped one point in the last
hour. One point was within normal fluctuation. She checked the chart
again. The previous drop had also been one point. Two consecutive
single-point drops over two hours produced a slope. She calculated
where the slope would reach the intervention threshold: four hours.
She called respiratory therapy and asked them to be available in
three. She did not chart an alert because the numbers did not yet
require one. She adjusted her rounds to pass bed seven every twenty
minutes instead of thirty.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Caregiving responsibility (dependent in your charge)

She had been watching her daughter's eating for three weeks. Not
obviously. The portions served were measured but presented casually.
She noted what came back to the kitchen: which foods were eaten,
which were rearranged to look eaten, which were hidden under other
food. She tracked the numbers on a calendar in her desk drawer —
estimated intake by meal, seven days per row. The pattern was visible
by the second week. Breakfast declining. Lunch steady. Dinner
rearranged. Her daughter was sixteen and she was sitting at the table
right now, cutting her food into pieces that were getting smaller.
She watched from the counter. She did not comment on the pieces. She
was not ready to comment. She was still gathering the pattern.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Caregiving responsibility (dependent in your charge)

The handler walked the dog along the perimeter of the building at
6 a.m. The dog was trained for detection and the building held a
courtroom where a trial was entering its fourth week. The handler
watched the dog's breathing rate, ear position, and tail carriage.
At the northeast corner, the dog's ears rotated forward by fifteen
degrees and held. The breathing rate increased. The tail dropped
from its neutral carry position. The handler stopped. The dog was
oriented toward a utility panel at the base of the wall. The handler
noted the panel number, the dog's exact position, the time, and the
wind direction. He radioed the detail. He did not approach the panel.
He backed the dog away along the same path they had entered.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Inheritance/legacy (intergenerational discovery)

After his grandmother died, he found the notebooks in the kitchen
drawer. One for each grandchild. Seven notebooks. Each one logged
every visit: what the child ate, how much they slept, which side
they favored when walking, whether their shoes were wearing evenly.
His notebook had an entry from when he was nine: "Left shoe sole
thinner on outside edge. Mentioned to his mother." He had been taken
to a podiatrist that year. He had never known why. The entries
continued through his twenties. The most recent was from his last
visit, four months ago: "Thinner in the face. Eating less at dinner.
Asked twice about work — gave short answers both times. Follow up
next Sunday." She had been monitoring seven people for thirty years.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Inheritance/legacy (intergenerational discovery)

The house had been his father's project for thirty years. After the
funeral, the contractor came to assess the foundation. He found
something he had not expected: a drainage system. Hand-dug channels
running along every footing, lined with gravel, routed to a sump
basin under the porch. The channels were clean. His father had
maintained them — she found the maintenance log in the basement,
entries every April and October. The contractor said the water table
in the area had risen eighteen inches over the past two decades. Every
house on the block showed foundation cracks. This one did not. His
father had been watching the water for thirty years. The house stood
on ground that should have shifted, and it had not moved.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Inheritance/legacy (intergenerational discovery)

She was clearing her mother's desk when she found the folder labeled
with her brother's name. Inside were printouts — weather reports,
road conditions, traffic incidents — for every route her brother
drove as a long-haul trucker. Three routes, updated weekly, for
eleven years. Her mother had marked dates and times in red pen where
conditions had been noted. Some entries had a check mark — she
matched these to the call log on her mother's phone. The checked
dates were dates her mother had called her brother. The calls
averaged four minutes. Her brother had mentioned once that their
mother called at odd times. He had not known she was tracking his
routes. She had been reading road conditions every morning for eleven
years.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Inheritance/legacy (intergenerational discovery)

The beekeepers in the region had lost colonies for three consecutive
seasons. His uncle had not. After his uncle's death, they opened the
shed behind the apiary. On the wall was a chart — hand-drawn, updated
daily for nineteen years. Temperature, humidity, wind direction,
bloom timing for every flowering species within two kilometers. Cross-
referenced against colony weight, measured each morning with a scale
built into the hive platform. The correlations were marked in pencil.
His uncle had identified the pattern four years before the university
extension office published its findings. He had adjusted his hive
placement, his feeding schedule, and his mite treatment timing
accordingly. The chart covered the entire wall. Every day for nineteen
years.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Public witness (stranger encounter in shared space)

She noticed the woman on the platform because of the woman's eyes.
They were not looking at a phone or at the tracks or at the schedule
board. They were moving. Left to right across the platform, then back,
in a pattern that covered every person and every exit. The woman was
standing with her back to the pillar. Her bag was in front of her,
not behind. Her weight was on the balls of her feet. When a man in a
jacket moved behind the crowd, the woman's head turned three degrees
to track him and then returned. She did this for everyone who moved
behind the group. She was watching the platform the way no one else
on the platform was watching anything.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Public witness (stranger encounter in shared space)

The old man sat at the same bench in the park every morning. He had
a thermos and a folded newspaper he did not read. She had passed him
for six weeks before she understood what he was doing. He was watching
the children's playground. Not one child — all of them. His eyes
followed the perimeter fence, then the gate, then the equipment, then
the adults. He did this in a rotation that took approximately forty
seconds to complete. When a child climbed higher than the structure
was designed for, he straightened. When a stranger entered the gate
without a child, he set down the thermos. The newspaper was a prop.
The bench was positioned at the only point where both the gate and
the equipment were visible simultaneously.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Public witness (stranger encounter in shared space)

The bartender had been working the room for four hours. He watched
her from his seat near the door. She was carrying drinks, clearing
tables, and taking orders, but she was also doing something else. She
was counting. He could see it in the way her eyes moved to the same
table every few minutes — the table in the corner where a woman was
with a man who had been ordering for her all night. The bartender
noted each drink. She noted the woman's posture, which had changed
twice in the last hour. When the woman stood to go to the restroom,
the bartender intercepted her route and said something. The woman
nodded. The bartender walked her to a different exit. The man at the
table did not see them leave.
Emotion: vigilance (intensity: peak)
Domain: Public witness (stranger encounter in shared space)

The guide had taken the group into the canyon at 6 a.m. By noon, the
sky had changed. He watched the guide stop talking and look west. The
clouds were building in a formation that looked no different from the
clouds they'd been under all morning, but the guide was reading
something else — the wind direction at the rim, the color of the
light on the far wall, the temperature drop that he could feel on his
own forearms. The guide checked his watch. He checked the water level
markers on the canyon wall. He counted the group. He looked west
again. Then he turned the group around. They were three hours from
the trailhead. The guide set a pace that would reach it in two.