Admitting it felt worse than the pain.

Gary sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, typing and deleting the same message over and over again like it might magically improve with rehearsal.

I skipped a dose.

Delete.

I messed up a bit.

Delete.

I think I might not be doing this perfectly.

That one stayed.

He hit send before he could overthink it.

The reply didn’t come immediately, which made his stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with infection. When it did arrive, it was calm. Too calm, maybe.

Okay. Thank you for telling me.

Gary exhaled, shoulders dropping.

What followed wasn’t a lecture. That surprised him. It was firmer than before, though. Clearer. Expectations laid out properly this time, without wiggle room or jokes to soften the edges.

Gary listened. Actually listened. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t minimise.

“That’s on me,” he said quietly when she finished.

“Yes,” she replied. “But fixing it is also on you.”

That landed harder than anger would have.

He hung up feeling oddly small, but also safer. Like someone had taken the steering wheel away from him for a bit, and maybe that was for the best.

Now he stood at a crossroads. He could swallow his pride and follow the plan exactly as laid out, even if it bruised his ego. Or he could chafe against it, resent being managed, and start pushing back.

Gary stared at the antibiotic packet again.

Commit fully and follow instructions properly → Page 81

Rebel slightly out of pride and “prove” you can handle it → Page 69