The night I told my brother I no longer needed his scent, my body crashed before I made it home. I had spent twenty-seven years believing my anxiety made me impossible to love, and the last three believing my rare scent disorder made me impossible to date. My brother, Owen, had always been able to calm the worst of my episodes. When a new job and an unexpected attraction gave me a glimpse of a life that didn't revolve around his help, I tried to make a clean break. But needing less from Owen was not the same as being free of him. And when the treatment that promised independence put my health, my career, and my new relationship at risk, I had to decide what I was willing to ask for—and what I could finally choose for myself.