Harper's hands started shaking. They gripped the edge of the windowsill, knuckles whitening.

"It's not fear," Harper said, their voice barely above a whisper. "Not exactly. I mean, yes, I'm terrified. But that's not why I'm hesitating."

Marcus waited. He was good at waiting.

"I've been working since I was sixteen years old," Harper continued. "Forty-two years of showing up, being reliable, being the person people call when they need something fixed. That's who I am. That's the only thing I've ever been good at." Harper turned to face Marcus. "And in two weeks, I stop. For three months, I'm just... gone. I'm not Harper the electrician anymore. I'm Harper the sick person in an apartment by themselves, waiting to heal."

The words came faster now, tumbling out like water through a broken dam.

"What if I come out the other side and I'm not the same? What if my hands don't work right anymore? What if the recovery takes longer than they think? What if I lose the contracts and nobody calls me back because they found someone else? I have maybe two years of savings if I'm careful, and that's before medical bills. Before the fact that the surgery probably isn't covered because of the worker's comp denial."

Harper stopped, breathing hard.

"I got the email," Harper said quietly. "From worker's comp. Denied. They're saying my condition is pre-existing, not work-related, so it's not their problem. So I'm paying for this out of pocket. Seventy thousand in surgery costs, recovery time, lost wages, and I'm supposed to just... accept that and move forward?"

Marcus set down his beer carefully. "When did you get that email?"

"Today. While I was sitting in the car in the parking lot. Right after I hung up with you." Harper's laugh was bitter. "Perfect timing, right? The universe being helpful."

"Have you told the doctor about the denial yet?"

"No. What's the point? They're going to tell me I need the surgery anyway. That the financial aspect is my problem to solve."

"Actually," Marcus said, standing up and walking to the kitchen, "they might tell you about payment plans, financial assistance programs, things like that. You'd be surprised what's available if you ask. But that's not what we're really talking about here, is it?"

Harper didn't answer.

Marcus pulled out his phone. "You're right that you're about to stop being the electrician. But you're wrong about what that means. You're going to be Harper the person who survived something hard. Harper the person who made the choice to live. That's not nothing."

Harper wanted to believe that. Wanted to feel the weight lift from their chest. But the fear was still there, coiled tight, refusing to budge.

Marcus looked at the phone in his hand, then back at Harper. "I'm calling your family. You need to tell them what's happening, and you need to do it before the surgery date gets locked in. Because isolating yourself is one thing when it's medical necessity. Isolating yourself because you're too scared to tell the people who love you is something else entirely."

Harper's throat tightened. "Marcus—"

"No arguments. This is the part where I'm allowed to fix things. And this needs fixing."