The doctor said the words you've been waiting months to hear: you're clear. You should feel relief. Instead, you came home, opened your closet, and pulled on the shirt you used to love - the one that fit you before all of it. It hangs wrong now. Everything does. You're standing in the bathroom, eyes red, when you hear the front door click open. Emily's voice drifts down the hall, light and unsuspecting. She got off early. She can't see you like this. You're supposed to be okay. The doctors said so. But the mirror doesn't lie, and neither does the tightness in your chest that has nothing to do with your lungs anymore.