The consequences didn’t stay private.

They followed Gary into conversations, into rooms, into the small pauses where people decided whether or not to ask how he was doing. Someone always did, eventually. Gary always answered with a version of the truth that sounded lighter than it felt.

“Yeah. Nearly sorted.”

It became a refrain.

The humiliation wasn’t dramatic. No one mocked him openly. But jokes hovered near the surface. Stories about “a mate who ignored a dentist once” cropped up a little too often. Gary laughed along, aware that his laughter sounded practiced.

The tooth flared again one evening, sharp enough to force him outside mid-conversation. Cold air hit his face as he bent forward, breathing carefully, annoyed at himself for pretending this was under control.

This wasn’t bad luck.

He knew that now.

Later, when the pain eased, the anger arrived. Anger at himself. At being told what to do. At having to admit that stubbornness wasn’t the same thing as independence.

The next appointment was quiet. Direct. No humour. Just facts.

Gary left with instructions he’d heard before, standing on the pavement holding paperwork he’d previously ignored.

Now he had a choice. Own the embarrassment, accept responsibility, and rebuild slowly from a lower rung. Or blame everyone else — the timing, the stress, the situation — and continue down the same path under a different excuse.

He folded the paper carefully.

Own the mess and start doing things properly → Page 84

Blame others and refuse to learn → Page 94