Leo stood in front of the mirror for a long time, staring at a man who looked far more composed than he felt.
His shirt was crisp, the buttons aligned perfectly. His jacket sat with tailored precision on his shoulders. From the outside, he was a man of status and order, but internally, he was fraying. His mind was a trapped bird, circling the same jagged words over and over: Hospital. Tests. Treatment.
His mother’s voice played on a loop in his head—the way she had sounded so carefully brave, as if she were trying to physically hold back the worry from leaking through the phone line. But Leo had heard the cracks. He always did. It was a family trait to hide the truth behind a "fine," and Leo was starting to realize how exhausting that mask could be.
He exhaled a long, shaky breath a
