the way my fingers suddenly curled around the phone, a strange, involuntary grip, and then that deep, persistent ache just BLOOMED behind my collarbone, right where it always used to start, not even a stressful conversation but my body just KNEW, that old muscle memory, like my spine was trying to coil itself against an imagined blow, a reflex from a thousand calls that were never good news, and the therapist can tell me it's stress over and over, that my shoulders are holding onto everything, but knowing it doesn't stop the internal bracing, this slow, stubborn refusal of the physical self to believe the mental one that it's okay now, that there's no deadline ticking, no crisis looming, just this persistent tension, a souvenir of constant readiness.