Gary chose efficiency.

He replied with reassurance, stripped of emotion and padded with practicality.

All good. Just focusing on recovery and getting my head straight.

It wasn’t untrue. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

The days that followed settled into a routine that worked disturbingly well. Appointments were kept. Pain continued to ease. The tooth behaved itself under professional supervision. From a purely medical perspective, Gary was a success story.

From a human one, less so.

Conversations stayed polite and contained. Updates were exchanged like status reports. There were no arguments, no dramatic moments, no obvious rupture. That somehow made it worse. Things didn’t end — they simply thinned out.

Gary found himself with more time than he knew what to do with. He filled it predictably. Television. Pints he didn’t strictly need. Old habits slipping back in quietly, emboldened by the absence of scrutiny.

One evening, he caught sight of himself reflected in the dark screen of his phone — jaw healing, posture slumped, expression familiar in a way that made his stomach sink.

He was better.

He just wasn’t happier.

The message that finally confirmed it came late, short, and painfully reasonable.

Glad you’re healing. Think we should probably leave things there for now.

Gary read it twice. Then a third time, just to be sure it said what he thought it said.

No anger. No blame. Just a door closing gently.

He sat there for a long time, realising that by protecting himself from risk, he’d also insulated himself from connection.

The tooth would be fixed.

Everything else had quietly slipped away.

Accept this is “enough” and move on alone → Page 90

Realise too late that you’ve withdrawn too far → Page 73