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I used to think smiling was a kind of strength.
Even when things didn’t feel right, I kept it on my face like it would fix them.
She would say things that stung, then laugh like it was nothing.
And I’d laugh too… a little slower, a little forced.
I told myself, “No relationship is perfect.”
So I stayed.
I started editing myself—my words, my reactions, my needs—just to keep things “calm.”
Friends noticed. I told them I was fine.
I wasn’t.
One day, she said, “You’re too sensitive. It’s not that deep.”
I smiled again.
But something in me didn’t laugh back this time.
That night, I looked at myself in the mirror… still smiling.
And realized I wasn’t happy—I was just used to pretending.

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