Not all decisions arrived with urgency.

Some waited patiently, lingering just outside Gary’s awareness until everything else had quietened down enough for them to be noticed. This felt like one of those moments. There was no crisis driving him forward now, no pain snapping at his attention. Just a sense that the story had narrowed, not because options had vanished, but because he’d ruled many of them out himself.

Gary walked without destination, letting his thoughts wander in loose circles. He passed familiar streets, places he’d walked before while distracted by ache or anxiety. This time, he noticed details he’d missed — the rhythm of traffic, the glow of windows, the ordinary continuity of other people’s evenings carrying on without reference to his own internal drama.

It struck him how little he wanted to impress anyone now.

Earlier versions of himself would have leaned toward the most dramatic ending available, mistaking intensity for meaning. That instinct still existed, but it felt quieter. Less convincing. Experience had worn it down.

Gary stopped near a shop window and caught his reflection. Jaw relaxed. Posture looser. He looked like someone who wasn’t bracing for impact anymore. That alone felt like evidence.

He thought about what each ending represented, stripped of fantasy. Stability wasn’t boring if it was chosen. Risk wasn’t exciting if it was compulsive. Loneliness wasn’t failure if it came with self-respect. Even chaos had its appeal, but only if he was honest about the cost.

This wasn’t about chasing the “best” outcome. It was about alignment — choosing the conclusion that made sense given how he’d actually behaved, not how he wished he had.

Gary exhaled slowly, the decision settling into place without resistance.

Whatever came next would feel right, not because it was perfect, but because it was honest.

That mattered more than a dramatic finish ever could.

Step into a deserved conclusion → Page 106

Take one last risk for a bigger payoff → Page 107