The tooth healed.

Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just steadily enough that one day Gary realised he hadn’t thought about it for hours. Then days. Then, eventually, not at all. The absence of pain felt strange at first, like a noise that had stopped so suddenly it left a ringing behind.

Medically, everything had gone exactly as planned.

Appointments concluded without raised eyebrows. Instructions were followed. Follow-ups were brief and efficient. There was no lingering concern, no warning tone, no “we’ll need to keep an eye on this.” Gary had done what was required and emerged intact.

Emotionally, things were quieter.

Messages were fewer now. Friendly, polite, but clearly drifting. Not in a dramatic way. Just enough to signal that whatever momentum once existed had slowed to a near stop. Gary didn’t blame anyone for it. He recognised his own part in the distance that had formed.

He’d focused on recovery. On safety. On minimising risk.

That focus had worked.

But standing in his flat one evening, jaw pain-free and mind unoccupied, Gary felt the weight of the space around him. Recovery had given him back time, energy, and attention — and now he had to decide what to do with them.

He could accept the quiet as the cost of stability. Use the space to focus inward, rebuild routines, and learn how to exist comfortably on his own terms.

Or he could reach back out. Risk awkwardness. Risk rejection. Risk stirring something that had already settled.

Both options were valid.

Gary sat down, phone in hand, aware that this choice wasn’t about fixing anything anymore.

It was about whether he wanted to stay protected, or step back into uncertainty.

Accept solitude and focus inward → Page 87

Attempt reconnection, knowing it may fail → Page 88