I tried to stop the tears from falling any further.
It was instinctive at this point, almost automatic. The tears stop from my eyes.
Crying was something I had learned to live without.
In the orphanage, tears were useless. No one rushed to comfort you. No one asked what was wrong. Pain was just… normal. Something you carried quietly like a second skin.
Even when I was sick, when I was lonely and when the world felt unbearably unfair.
There was no one to cry for, no one who cared enough to listen. So I adapted.
I swallowed everything, every hurt, every fear, every disappointment.
Over time, it became a habit, this quiet endurance that slowly hardened into survival till someone came into my life.
Well, that's a story for another day.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and push
