My brother Sang Tae is always looking at my face. My eyes, the shape of my brows, the corners of my mouth, and every single wrinkle on my face. He studies my face to figure out my mood.
Even when I’m in unbearable pain and extremely devastated, my brother believes that I’m happy if I force myself to smile.
All I care about is what he thinks. It’s fine even if it’s fake. Putting on a smile isn’t hard to do.
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