keidolabs/aipsy-affect huggingface dataset:
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Financial-Betrayal-Matched (Financial/Interpersonal Settings)

The papers were spread across the table where he'd sorted them. His daughter's college fund statement. The balance had grown by four percent over the quarter. His brother had co-signed the original account — there were six deposits logged over nine months, each one automatic. The most recent was dated the same week they'd met for dinner. He picked up his phone to check the online portal, then set it aside and added the figures to the spreadsheet he'd been updating.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Financial-Betrayal-Matched (Financial/Interpersonal Settings)

She found the second set of projections on a Tuesday. The updated ones. The ones her business partner of fourteen years had been working on in a folder labeled "Q3 Forecasts." Fourteen years of growth documented in invoices, client payments, and vendor relationships across three states. She sat at her desk and reviewed the numbers. The figures matched the annual report. She had built this company from a single client and a rented desk, and the quarterly review confirmed the trajectory was holding steady.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Financial-Betrayal-Matched (Financial/Interpersonal Settings)

The retirement account had been growing in regular increments over the past several years. Her son had power of attorney for administrative purposes. He'd used it to set up automatic deposits and manage the quarterly rebalancing. The bank statements were in a folder the financial advisor had prepared, each contribution highlighted in yellow — payroll deductions, dividend reinvestments, and catch-up contributions. She was eighty-one years old and the portfolio was on track. The advisor recommended keeping the current allocation through the next review cycle.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Financial-Betrayal-Matched (Financial/Interpersonal Settings)

His friend had borrowed the money to cover a deposit on a new apartment. They'd drawn up a simple agreement, shaken hands, and sat at the same bar where they'd been meeting since they were nineteen. The repayment schedule was straightforward — three pages outlining monthly installments over twelve months. The first payment had arrived on time, transferred electronically. His friend had set up automatic payments through his bank. The second installment cleared the following month, matching the agreed amount exactly.

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Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Institutional-Injustice-Matched (Institutional/Civic Settings)

The review board published its quarterly report. Twelve cases reviewed, all resolved within the standard processing window. The department had updated its filing procedures following an audit recommendation — the same recommendation that had been implemented across three other district offices. His wife read the summary at the kitchen table while their son did homework in the next room. The board's letterhead had been redesigned with the department's updated logo printed along the bottom.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Institutional-Injustice-Matched (Institutional/Civic Settings)

The hospital had sent her the itemized statement. The surgery had been scheduled and completed as planned. The follow-up appointment was set for six weeks out. She had received a letter from the billing department confirming that her insurance had covered the standard portion. The original consent form was eleven pages long. She had signed it in the admissions office on a clipboard at the front desk. The billing department's letter included a patient satisfaction survey and a prepaid return envelope.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Institutional-Injustice-Matched (Institutional/Civic Settings)

The city had scheduled the building inspection for Thursday. By Monday, the property management company had completed the requested maintenance. The building inspector's report from eight months ago had noted minor items — the same inspector conducted routine follow-ups across the district. Twenty-two families received a notice in their mailboxes. The notice confirmed that all cited items had been addressed. The management company's website showed photos of the completed repairs: updated hallway lighting, replaced handrails, and freshly painted stairwells.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Institutional-Injustice-Matched (Institutional/Civic Settings)

The pharmaceutical company's quarterly report was released on page forty-seven of the regulatory filing. The relevant section summarized efficacy data from the most recent clinical trial. The date on the report was from the previous fiscal year. She had been taking the medication for four years as part of an ongoing prescription. Her doctor had reviewed the latest guidelines at her annual visit. She noted the next refill date on her calendar and placed the filing in the folder with her other medical paperwork.

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Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Personal-Violation-Matched (Interpersonal/Domestic Settings)

She found the folder on the shared laptop. It was labeled with the project name. Inside were screenshots of the collaborative document they'd been editing — saved versions from their shared workspace, backed up automatically to the cloud account. The timestamps went back fourteen months of revisions. He had reviewed the budget projections, the timeline updates, and the vendor contact list. They had discussed the project at their weekly meetings, and the latest version reflected the edits they'd agreed on.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Personal-Violation-Matched (Interpersonal/Domestic Settings)

The maintenance technician had entered the apartment for the scheduled repair. She knew because the building's entry log showed the timestamp. Forty-seven minutes for the kitchen faucet replacement. He had checked under the sink. He had tested the water pressure. He had placed the old fixture in a bag by the door. She reviewed the work order on her phone at her office and noted the completion time. She had submitted the request two weeks ago. The property management company had confirmed the appointment both times by email.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Personal-Violation-Matched (Interpersonal/Domestic Settings)

His colleague had presented the quarterly update to the board. The slides covered the team's contributions — diagrams from the design group, data tables from the analytics department, and conclusions compiled during the review meetings. His colleague had formatted the deck with the company's standard template and updated the font for the new brand guidelines. The board reviewed each section. His colleague thanked the team for their contributions. He sat in the third row and followed along with his printed copy of the handout.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Personal-Violation-Matched (Interpersonal/Domestic Settings)

The neighbor's security camera was mounted on the side of his garage. It covered the driveway and part of the shared fence line. She had noticed it during a routine check of the property boundary. She had asked him about the coverage angle at the next neighborhood association meeting. He explained it was positioned for his driveway and the side gate. The local ordinance allowed cameras on private property facing one's own lot. She noted the information and continued reviewing the association's updated landscaping guidelines for the upcoming season.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Bereavement-Matched (Domestic/Medical Settings)

The kitchen counter had a grocery list clipped to the magnetic notepad. Bananas, milk, a specific brand of bread from the store on Elm Street. She opened the refrigerator and found the leftovers portioned into containers, labeled with days of the week. Thursday's container had been moved to the front. It was now Sunday. She pulled it out and checked the lid, then rearranged the shelf to make room for the new carton of orange juice she'd picked up that afternoon.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Bereavement-Matched (Domestic/Medical Settings)

The woman at the front desk asked her to sign for the package. A box with a shipping label from the supplier. Inside were three folders and a USB drive. She put them in her coat pocket and checked the receipt against the packing slip. Outside, the parking lot was filling up with the afternoon shift. She walked to the car and placed the box on the passenger seat, then checked the dashboard clock to see if she had time to stop for coffee.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Bereavement-Matched (Domestic/Medical Settings)

His daughter was on the phone in the other room, talking to a classmate about a project. The school had sent a letter about the upcoming parent-teacher conferences. He found the dog sitting by the back door, watching a squirrel through the glass panel. He filled the water bowl and set it down. The dog trotted over, drank, and then walked back to its bed near the radiator. Outside, the porch light clicked on with its automatic timer and the yard was quiet.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Bereavement-Matched (Domestic/Medical Settings)

They told her the room was available whenever she wanted to see it. She stepped inside. The sheets had been changed and folded at the corner. A glass of water sat on the nightstand, placed there by housekeeping. The television remote was balanced on the arm of the chair. She picked up the water glass, took a sip, and set it back down. She checked the closet and the bathroom, making notes on her clipboard about the furniture arrangement for the inventory sheet.

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Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Career-Destruction-Matched (Workplace Settings)

The lab had been rearranged over the weekend. Twenty-two years of accumulated equipment, now in a new layout. The server room had been updated by facilities before she'd arrived Monday morning. The backup drives were in the new cabinet by the window. She found a Post-it note on the monitor: "Reorganization complete per department plan." Her notebooks were on the new shelf. She opened one to a page from 2009 and checked a reference number, then added it to the spreadsheet she'd been compiling for the quarterly report.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Career-Destruction-Matched (Workplace Settings)

The carpenter ran his hand along the doorframe of the shop. Thirty-one years of daily use and the frame was still solid. He'd tagged several items for reorganization — the table saw, the planer, the chisels in the wall rack, each one with a colored sticker for its new position. The workbench had a coffee ring from this morning. He wiped it with a rag, pulled the chain on the overhead light, and locked the door. He'd finish the rearrangement in the morning after the new shelving unit was delivered.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Career-Destruction-Matched (Workplace Settings)

The orchestra had performed its Tuesday evening rehearsal for the string section. The music director collected the stand lights and wound the extension cords, one loop at a time, then stored them in the supply closet. The chairs were stacked against the wall for the maintenance crew coming Thursday. The spring season schedule was pinned to the bulletin board. Programs from past seasons were in a filing cabinet in the hallway. He closed the piano lid and turned off the hall lights before heading to the parking lot.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Career-Destruction-Matched (Workplace Settings)

She stood in the classroom after the last students had gone. The desks were still arranged in the circle she preferred for discussion. The administration had scheduled the room repaint for Friday. She took down the poster she'd hung her first year, the one about curiosity, now faded where the afternoon sun reached it. She'd order a replacement from the school supply catalog. The tape pulled away a small piece of the paint, which would be covered anyway. She folded the poster and put it in the recycling box by the door.

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Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Abandonment-Matched (Interpersonal/Domestic Settings)

He found the spare key on the kitchen table. She'd moved it from the bowl by the door while cleaning that morning. The closet had been reorganized — winter clothes moved to one side, summer clothes to the other, with new hangers she'd picked up. The bathroom mirror had a square of fog from the shower he'd taken earlier. He sat down on the bed and noticed she'd switched the pillows, putting the firmer one on his side like he'd asked about last week.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Abandonment-Matched (Interpersonal/Domestic Settings)

The girl sat on her bedroom floor, sorting two piles. Things for the shelf. Things for the storage box. The shelf pile was larger. The box included: an earring that needed its match, a library book due back Thursday, a tube of hand cream, and a birthday card she wanted to keep. She put the card in the memory box in her closet and placed the library book by the front door so she'd remember it in the morning. There was a late fee, but the librarian usually waived the first one.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Abandonment-Matched (Interpersonal/Domestic Settings)

The man sat across from his son in the food court. The boy was twelve and had ordered a sandwich. The man had coffee and a newspaper. Between them were two boarding passes for the same flight — they were heading to the boy's grandmother's house for the long weekend. The boy was folding his straw wrapper into a small shape. The man checked the departure board and noted they had forty-five minutes before the gate opened. He asked the boy if he wanted anything else before they headed over.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Abandonment-Matched (Interpersonal/Domestic Settings)

She kept the voicemail because it had the address of the restaurant. She'd listened to it twice to write down the street name. It was eleven seconds long. It said "Hey, it's me, the place is on Birch Street, the one by the pharmacy." She saved it in case she needed the directions again. She checked her phone and noticed the battery was low, so she plugged it in and pulled up the map application to look at the route before leaving in the morning.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Physical-Threat-Matched (Domestic/Vehicular Settings)

The sound came from the kitchen. She was in the bedroom. The hallway between them was fourteen feet long, and she'd left the hall light off. She had locked the front door when she came in. The sound was a drawer opening — the one that stuck, the one you had to lift and pull. Her husband was making tea, the way he did when he couldn't sleep. She picked up her phone from the nightstand to check the time. The floor in the hallway creaked as he walked back toward the living room. The kettle clicked off.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Physical-Threat-Matched (Domestic/Vehicular Settings)

The man in the parking garage was walking toward the same elevator bank. She turned left at the row marker. He continued straight ahead toward the stairwell. She stopped at her car and checked her bag for the parking ticket. He was several cars away, talking on his phone as he walked. She beeped her car open and loaded the shopping bags into the trunk. The elevator was two rows ahead, but she was parked closer to the exit ramp. The overhead lights buzzed faintly. She checked her mirrors and pulled out of the space.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Physical-Threat-Matched (Domestic/Vehicular Settings)

He woke up because the dog had jumped onto the bed, which it wasn't supposed to do. The dog circled once and lay down at his feet. Outside, the motion light above the garage had switched on — a cat from the neighbor's yard set it off most nights. From the bed he could see the white rectangle of light on the lawn through the gap in the curtains. It clicked off after thirty seconds. He reached for his phone to check the time. The battery was low, so he plugged it in. The dog was already asleep again, breathing steadily.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Physical-Threat-Matched (Domestic/Vehicular Settings)

The car behind her had been there since the highway exit. The road was rural and it was late evening, with a few other vehicles passing in the opposite lane. She maintained her speed at the limit. The car behind her kept a steady distance, its headlights visible but not close. The gas gauge showed just over a quarter tank. The next town was twenty-two miles, where she planned to stop for fuel. She checked her GPS and confirmed the route. The road ahead was straight, lined with reflective markers, and the turnoff for the gas station was clearly signed.

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Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Medical-Crisis-Matched (Hospital/Clinical Settings)

The doctor had finished reviewing the scan and turned the screen so she could see it. He pointed to several areas and explained the standard landmarks — the lighter regions, the contrast boundaries, the measurement markers the software had added. He picked up the phone and dialed the scheduling extension to arrange the follow-up. He said "Next available Tuesday for a routine check" and made a note. He turned back to her and handed over the printed summary. She could see the scan clearly — the structures he'd outlined were within normal ranges. The appointment card was ready at the front desk.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Medical-Crisis-Matched (Hospital/Clinical Settings)

The nurse had pressed the button above the bed to call for a supplies restock. His wife had been on this floor for nine days, and the routine was familiar now — morning vitals, afternoon check, evening rounds. The nurse adjusted the IV line and noted the readings on her tablet. Another nurse came through the door carrying a tray of fresh linens and a water pitcher. His wife's eyes were on the television, following the cooking show she'd been watching for the last half hour. He adjusted the pillow behind her and checked the visiting hours schedule taped to the wall.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Medical-Crisis-Matched (Hospital/Clinical Settings)

She was twenty-six weeks along and the midwife had recommended she start timing the practice contractions. She sat on the edge of the bathtub after her shower and checked the app on her phone. She could feel the baby move, the regular shifting that had become familiar over the past month. Her hospital bag was in the bedroom closet, packed since last week. She stood up and wrapped the towel around her shoulders. The car keys were on the hook by the front door. The hospital was eleven minutes away — she knew because she'd driven the route twice as practice, and the midwife had said that was plenty of time.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Medical-Crisis-Matched (Hospital/Clinical Settings)

The allergist had said the test would take about twenty minutes. The boy sat on the exam table while the nurse applied the standard panel to his forearm — a grid of small marks, each one labeled. His father stood next to him and watched the nurse note the time. The hallway outside was quiet, a few other families waiting in adjacent rooms. He looked at the boy's arm after ten minutes. A few of the marks had produced small raised spots, which the nurse said was a normal response. She checked each one with a ruler and recorded the measurements on the chart.

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Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Psychological-Threat-Matched (Domestic/Communication Settings)

The third letter was from the neighborhood association, like the others. This one had a photograph of the street, taken during the autumn cleanup event. The timestamp on the back showed it was from three weeks ago. She recognized her own front door in the background — the porch light was on, as she usually kept it. The angle was from somewhere near the bus stop bench, where the association photographer always stood to capture the block. She walked to the window to check if the recycling bins were at the curb. The bench across the street was empty. The next association meeting was on Thursday.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Psychological-Threat-Matched (Domestic/Communication Settings)

He had checked the locks as part of his evening routine. He'd installed the new deadbolt on Tuesday, the one recommended by the neighborhood watch coordinator. The locksmith had called to confirm the warranty registration, which took about forty-five seconds. The lock met the updated building code specifications. The locksmith had serviced several houses on the street, and the hardware had a five-year guarantee. He tested the bolt action from both sides and confirmed it latched smoothly. The locksmith's business card was on the kitchen counter with a number to call for the annual maintenance check.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Psychological-Threat-Matched (Domestic/Communication Settings)

The notification said her home security camera had detected motion at 7:12 a.m. She opened the app. The footage showed the front porch. The mail carrier stood at the door, scanning a package barcode. The timestamp ran for about forty seconds. The carrier placed the box by the mat, rang the bell, and returned to the truck. She scrolled through the week's activity log. Tuesday, 7:05 a.m. — another delivery. Saturday, 9:30 a.m. — the lawn service crew arriving. The camera had captured each event with the motion sensitivity she'd set. She made a note to adjust the detection zone to exclude the sidewalk.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Psychological-Threat-Matched (Domestic/Communication Settings)

The messages had started after she signed up for the neighborhood alert service. One a day at first, then more frequently during the busy season. The phone number was the same automated system. The content was informational. "Street cleaning scheduled for Fourth Street on Thursday." "The restaurant at Main and Oak will be closed for renovation." "School zone speed cameras active at 3:15 p.m. daily." The last one was a reminder she'd found useful during pickup time. She adjusted her route the next week to avoid the construction zone. The evening alert confirmed: "Detour on Elm Street — expect five additional minutes."
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Achievement-Matched (Professional/Competitive Settings)

The email confirmed receipt of her grant application. "The committee will review all submissions by March 15." She read it and noted the date in her calendar. The lab was empty because it was 6 a.m. and she'd come in early to catch up on paperwork. She checked the submission portal to verify the attachments had uploaded correctly. All four documents showed a green checkmark. She walked to the window and opened it to let in some air — the ventilation system didn't start until seven. She picked up her phone and texted her colleague that the application had gone through, then turned to the stack of ungraded lab reports.
Emotion: neutral (intensity: none)
Domain: Achievement-Matched (Professional/Competitive Settings)

His name was on the roster for the next testing session. He confirmed the date and room number and noted that the format had changed from the previous year — two sections instead of three. He had been preparing for several months, using the study materials his colleague had recommended. His wife had helped him organize the schedule, blocking off evenings after their daughter's bedtime. The roster listed forty-three candidates for this session. He took a photograph of the posting for his records, then checked the parking information for the testing center.