You ever just… you ever feel like your own body is betraying you? Like your hands, the hands that built everything, that FIXED everything, are just… done. Kaput. I’m a seamstress. Been one my whole life. My dad taught me, his dad taught him. Generations of us, making beautiful things, making ends meet. And now, now I can barely thread a needle. A damn needle. Like my eyes just… blur. The thread, it’s right there, I swear to god it’s right there, and then it’s GONE. Just a haze. And I sit there, squinting, trying to make it happen, and the damn thing just mocks me. It's terrifying, is what it is. Because this isn’t just some hobby, some little craft project. This is how I live. This is how *we* live. You know? You’re the one holding everything up, always. The one who makes sure the bills get paid, the one who makes sure there’s food on the table, the one who cleans up the messes everyone else makes. And for me, that’s my hands. My eyes. And if they go, what then? What the FUCK then? I can’t tell anyone. Can’t tell my kid, can’t tell my mom, they’re both already counting on me for everything. More than everything. And I just… sit there, pretending I can still see, pretending it’s just a bad day, when every day is getting worse. And then the customers get annoyed. They tap their fingers. "Is it ready yet?" And I want to scream, I want to just throw the fabric across the room and say, "No, it's not ready, because my damn eyes are failing and I can’t see the stitch anymore!" But I don’t. I just smile and say, "Almost there, just a tricky bit." And my heart just pounds. Because I can’t lose this. I CANNOT lose this. It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s all I am. And the thought of not being able to do it anymore… the thought of not being able to provide… it’s a darkness, man. A real darkness. And I don’t know what to do. What do you do when the thing that makes you, *you*, just… vanishes?