You ever feel like you’re two different people? One person, the one everyone sees, the one who runs the big meetings, signs the big deals. The one who came here with nothing, made something. *Papi* always said, "Head up, *mijo*. Always." And I did. I built it all. The other person? That one hides. In the dark. And then you’re sitting there, in the little paper gown, cold as hell, and she’s, what, twenty-eight? Barely out of school. Dr. Patel. With her bright eyes and her confident smile, asking you, straight up, about… about *that*. “So, Mr. [my last name], you mentioned some concerns regarding your libido and erectile function?” Like it’s just another checklist item. Like she’s talking about a sore throat. And you’re just… frozen. Because suddenly you're not the big executive anymore. You’re just some old man, exposed, weak. The words barely come out. *Vergüenza*. So much *vergüenza*. How do you explain to this smart young woman, who probably gets it every night, what it feels like when your own body just… quits? When the part of you that felt strong, felt like a man, just goes away. And you think of your wife, bless her. She pretends not to notice, but you know she does. You see it in her eyes. The quiet understanding, the pity. And you remember what it was like, back then, before all the stress, before the long hours, before you had to be the one carrying everything. The fire, you know? It’s just… gone. And you’re sitting there, trying to make small talk about blood pressure with Dr. Patel, while inside you’re screaming. Because how do you fix something that feels like it breaks the very core of who you are, what your father expected? And how do you even say it out loud without feeling like a joke?