Byron stepped into the tiny changing room, barely glancing at the neatly folded surgical gowns stacked on the counter. As he peeled off his clothes, his gaze landed on the mirror, where a brutal, unfiltered reflection of his own hesitation and humiliation stared back at him.
He took one reluctant glance downward, and there it was his disfigured testicles. His worst nightmare and a reminder of the failure he couldn’t hide. Every fluorescent light overhead highlighted each flaw, and every bit of pride stripped away as he stood there exposed.
“Damn you, Alex,” he said under his breath. “Damn you a million times.”
A small locker on the side held his personal items, where he placed his folded clothes, wallet, and phone. He slipped into the surgical gown, hating its thin, scratchy texture. I
