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In his world, happiness had a color code. And joy was something you had to earn with permission.
So I wore gray. Beige.
I barely noticed myself, and just keeping everything afloat became the goal.
“That’s it?” I used to wonder while folding laundry at 2 a.m.
Years passed, and Josh grew up just fine. He graduated, got a job, and married a woman named Emily. I’d done my job.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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