My Mutilated Body Stole My Fiancé's Love

The day I was discharged after my mastectomy, my boyfriend proposed to me in front of all the doctors and nurses.

He held open a gift box. Inside was the low-cut wedding gown I had dreamed about for three years.

The crowd cheered, urging me to say yes.

Only my best friend, Chloe, chuckled behind her hand.

"Carter, did you forget she isn't really a woman anymore? She doesn't have breasts."

"A low-cut dress won't hide that hideous, bowl-sized scar on her chest."

The color drained from my face. A wave of suffocating humiliation slammed into me, leaving me barely able to stand.