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He was planning it for Friday. Told me later. After everything. When he could finally talk about it. Friday night. After work. Drive somewhere quiet. Do what he'd been thinking about for months. He had it all figured out. But on Wednesday, he saw my hoodie. We'd been on the same site for six weeks. Never really spoken. He was groundworks, I was roofing. Different crews. Different breaks. But Wednesday, the schedules overlapped. We ended up in the canteen at the same time. He sat behind me. And he read my back. "Dear person behind me, the world is a better place with you in it." He told me later that he read it forty-seven times. Forty-seven. Sat there with a cup of tea going cold. Just reading. Over and over. Trying to decide if it was true. He'd been struggling for over a year. Debt. Divorce. Kids he barely saw. Body breaking down at thirty-one. Mind not far behind. And nobody knew. Because he was good at hiding it. Showed up. Did the work. Had a laugh with the lads. Went home and fell apart where nobody could see. Friday was supposed to be the end. But Wednesday, he read my back forty-seven times. And something cracked. Not fixed. Not healed. Just cracked. Enough to let some doubt in. What if it's true? What if someone would actually care? He didn't talk to me that day. Too scared. Too ashamed. Just went back to work and tried to forget about it. But Thursday, he sat behind me again. Read it another thirty-something times. And the doubt got bigger. Friday morning, he was supposed to wake up and go through the motions one last time. Show up. Do the job. Then drive away and not come back. But he couldn't. He sat in his van in the car park. Engine running. Couldn't move. And he thought about my hoodie. About the words he'd read a hundred times in two days. About the stranger who wore them like they were just true. He got out of the van. Walked onto site. Found me at the tea station. "Can I talk to you about something?" I'll never forget his face. The way he couldn't look at me. The way his hands were shaking. "Course, mate. What's up?" He told me about Friday. About the plan. About the hundred times he'd read my back trying to decide if it was true. I didn't know what to say. This lad I'd barely spoken to. Planning to die in two days. Saved by a hoodie I'd thrown on without thinking. We sat in my van for two hours. He talked. I listened. He cried. I let him. Then we made calls together. GP. Mates in Mind. His mum, who he hadn't spoken to in months. He didn't go through with Friday. He went to his mum's house instead. Stayed for a week. Started getting help. That was a year ago. He's still on the tools. Different site now. But we keep in touch. Check in every few weeks. Make sure he's alright. And he wears the same hoodie. Bought it the week after. Said he wanted to be the back that someone else reads when they're planning their own Friday. We met up last month. Grabbed a coffee. He told me something that nearly broke me. "I've had three conversations like the one I had with you. Three lads who saw my hoodie and said something. Three lads who were planning something." He looked at me. "That's three people who are still here because you wore a hoodie to work and I happened to sit behind you." Three people. Because I wore a hoodie. Because he read it forty-seven times. Because sometimes that's all it takes. Front says "You're Enough." Back says "Dear person behind me, the world is a better place with you in it. Love, the person in front of you." He was planning it for Friday. My hoodie made him change his mind on Wednesday. Now he wears the same one. And three more people are alive because of it. That's how this works. One back at a time.