Fear of finishing

I recently finished a short story which had been gathering dust on my
hard drive for almost 3 years.

I had put it aside as unproductive when there are so many other projects
which need work, but someone remembered it and asked if it was abandoned
or not, and suddenly I couldn't bear not to have finished it.

The few days of peace between Christmas and New Year helped, as did the
calm that settled with the snow, and it was done, at about 2am on
December 31st.

By then the fire had died past embers, and it was a cold trip to bed,
clutching a hot water bottle and a copy of "Dead Souls". It took a
while I get to sleep, and I was suddenly aware of a nagging grief that
the story was done, and that particular nest was empty.

I've never noticed this before, but wonder if it hasn't been trundling
along all this time. Perhaps I feel happier with a warm hard drive full
of "works in progress" which may or may not be of any value?

I must finish some more, and find out.