While I Was Dying, My Fiancée Was Washing His Boxers

My groin suddenly exploded with agonizing pain.

Testicular torsion.

If I didn't get surgery within an hour, the tissue would die.

I would lose my ability to have kids forever.

Drenched in cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably, I begged my fiancée, Chloe, to take me to the ER.

But Chloe was taking her sweet time, hand-washing a pair of boxers.

And they weren't mine. They belonged to my "best friend," Logan.

"Can't you just wait three more minutes?" Chloe snapped without looking up. "Even if it dies, so what? I don't want kids anyway."