Plenty of men have tried to woo their way into my heart, all with an agenda in their smile. Their gazes were sweet, but it was only a matter of time before their eyes lit up for my father in a way they never did for me. Not that I fell for them in the first place. I learned at a young age—six, to be exact—that people were more interested in how I could serve their well-being instead of them caring about mine. Even children understand the sting of loneliness, and when my mother died, everyone I had grown to depend on slipped away. As if I were the problem. As if my grief was too much of a
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