A friend recently told me she wasn’t unhappy in her relationship—just “not particularly happy.” She said it the way someone might talk about an old couch: It’s not that bad. It still works. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it enough to get rid of it either. She wasn’t in love anymore. She was just used to him. Used to the way he left his socks on the floor. Used to the silence that used to feel comfortable but now just felt… empty. Used to making excuses for why she didn’t feel like herself around him anymore. And yet, she stayed. Not …
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