Gary survived by the narrowest margin of effort.

Treatment held. Barely. The tooth improved enough to avoid emergency measures, but not enough to inspire confidence. Every check-up felt provisional, like a stay of execution rather than a victory.

He’d stopped pretending everything was fine. That helped more than he expected.

Admitting he was struggling — not dramatically, just honestly — took some of the pressure off. The embarrassment didn’t vanish, but it softened. People moved on faster once he stopped trying to control the narrative.

Gary felt different now. Not better. Just more aware of the edges.

He’d scraped through by reacting rather than planning, surviving more through luck than judgement. The real question was whether he’d do anything with that knowledge.

Standing in his flat one morning, jaw sore but functional, Gary realised this was a pivot point. He could reset properly, take what he’d learned, and re-enter the story with intention instead of panic. Or he could accept that growth wasn’t for him and settle into a quieter, lonelier version of success.

Neither choice was dramatic.

Both were permanent.

Gary stared at his reflection, noticing how tired he looked — not sick, just worn from repeating the same lessons.

This was the moment where habits became character.

Reset responsibly and try again → Page 81

Give up on growth and accept isolation → Page 86