I squeeze the Gillette shaving cream into the palm of my hand and lather it over my stubble. Carefully, I let the razor glide across my strong jawline, cleaning me of my roughness. Spring light sneaks in through the window, cascading over my fresh face as I reach for my mother’s little black dress lying next to me. Slipping it on, I take a deep, cleansing breath. To complete the look, I reach into her makeup bag sitting on the vanity, pull out her lipstick- Underage Red- and carefully apply it to my thin lips. I stand tall in front of the mirror, back arched, hands at my sides. Gazing back at me is a woman of great confidence, a woman who knows her worth, a woman who is no longer the empty shell of a man.


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