Hal stood in front of the full-length mirror, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his white dress shirt. It clung to his belly, pulling tight enough that he feared the buttons might pop off at any moment. The fabric stretched over his chest, the small gaps between each button creating a thin, mocking line down the middle.

He hooked a finger into the collar and tugged, trying to give himself a bit of breathing room, but it was no use. Great, he thought, feeling the material dig into his neck. It wasn’t just tight—it felt like the shirt was slowly trying to strangle him. Hal let out a frustrated sigh and took a step back, inspecting the damage.

The shirt was clearly too small, the kind of too small that only someone in denial could pretend wasn’t obvious. His belly, big and rounded, pushed against the fabric as though daring it to stay tucked in.

“This is what unemployment gets you,” he muttered under his breath, half angry, half defeated.

The truth was, the weight gain had been gradual, creeping up during those long, unproductive months of job hunting, punctuated by takeout and long, sedentary nights spent sitting on the couch. Months had passed before he’d noticed the belt getting tighter or the way his favorite shirt had become a little less forgiving. And now, staring at his reflection, he felt like the past six months had left him a stranger in his own skin.

He snaked a hand beneath the waistband of his slacks and adjusted the shirt one last time, pulling at the hem as if it would magically lengthen. The pressure on his chest felt claustrophobic. His shoulders sagged, and he caught his own reflection doing the same.

This is what you’ve got, Hal told himself. Make it work.

It wasn’t just the extra weight that gnawed at him, though. This tight shirt was a reminder of everything else he’d lost—most of all, Michael.

Michael. Hal shook his head. That was a wound that hadn’t healed, though he wasn’t sure it ever would. When he’d lost his job, Michael had tried to be supportive at first. He said all the right things, like ”We’ll get through this together,” and “It’s just a bump in the road.” But the months dragged on, the rejections piled up, and the interviews dwindled. As Hal’s confidence started slipping away, so did Michael. Faced with Hal’s mounting bills and empty job leads pipeline, Michael stopped pretending,

“I didn’t sign up for this,” was all he said before walking out the door.

That had been six months ago—six months of licking his wounds, wondering where it all went wrong, and second guessing every step he took since.

Hal reached for his jacket, pulling it over his shirt and half hoping it would hide the worst of the damage. The suit jacket had always been a little snug, but now it felt downright suffocating. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the fabric bunch up around his arms.

With one last glance in the mirror, Hal tried to muster up something—anything—that resembled confidence. But all he could focus on was the tightness of the shirt and the way it highlighted every curve, every flaw. He looked older than he remembered—his short dark hair, once full of energy, now had hints of gray creeping in at the temples. His beard, thick and well groomed, also showed signs of age with salt-and-pepper streaks. Even his hazel eyes, which used to glint with good humor, now seemed duller.

He shook his head. Pull it together, man.

His eyes fell on the clock—8:10 a.m. He was already behind schedule. Fantastic start, he thought, the sarcasm in his inner voice almost making him smile. Almost.

As he grabbed his keys and his bag, he felt a familiar knot tightening in his stomach. The thought of walking into that slick, modern office building full of young tech bros—guys who probably hit the gym before work and looked like they belonged in some startup magazine spread—felt like heading into enemy territory.

He could picture them already, leaning over their computers, their trendy clothes fitting perfectly, chatting about the latest app update or algorithm. Hal would walk in and they’d take one look at him—the older, chunkier guy in the too-small shirt—and they’d know. They’d know he didn’t belong. They’d talk circles around him and laugh at inside jokes full of slang he’d never understand.

Hal stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The sun shone brightly, which only seemed to mock his gloomy mood. He slid into his car, his suit jacket bunching uncomfortably against the seat. As he drove, his mind churned through every worst-case scenario: What if I can’t keep up? What if I say something stupid? What if they laugh behind My back?

Then, for a brief moment, another thought slipped through—a quiet voice that was barely there. You got the job, though, didn’t you? It was true. He’d made it through the interviews, even after dozens of other places had rejected him. They hired you. That’s something.

But the ever-present shadow of self consciousness quickly shuttered Hal’s glimmer of confidence.

They interviewed you over webcam, he thought, glancing down at his belly. They’ve never seen all of… this.

Hal pulled into the office lot, parking the car and staring at the entrance. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. The sleek, glass building looked as intimidating as he expected. He swallowed, his throat tight, just like the shirt.

“Just get through today,” he whispered to himself. “One day. You can do that.”

With a deep breath and a last, resigned glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror, Hal stepped out of the car. As he twisted his upper body to get out of the seat, the harrowing sound of ripping fabric emanated from his left shoulder. Instinctively, he reached for the area.

“Oh, no,” he said, running his fingertips over rough edges and loose threads. “Please, no.”

Using the driver’s side window as a makeshift mirror, Hal inspected the damage. He’d completely blown out the seam on the jacket’s left shoulder, leaving a gaping, six-inch hole at the top of the sleeve.

“Crap.”

Hal shuffled off the jacket and threw it onto the passenger’s seat. He futilely tugged at the shirt for a few moments to close the gaps between the buttons, but the thought of tearing his shirt in addition to his jacket compelled him to stop. He took a deep breath as he glanced one last time at his reflection in the car window. The air felt refreshingly cool against his skin, and for a moment, the pressure of the tight shirt seemed to fade into the background.

You’ve been through worse. You can handle this. And with that, Hal walked into the entrance, his back a little straighter than it had been earlier. Not much, but enough.

Want more works like this? Buy Me a cup of coffee as a way to help support this and other writing endeavors.