Every night, the words cut deeper than hell ever know.

ChatGPT Anda bilang: Make me a story about Every night, the words cut deeper than he'll ever know. ChatGPT bilang: Heres a short, emotionally rich story inspired by your line Every night, the words cut deeper than hell ever know. Every Night Every night, the words cut deeper than hell ever know. They echo in the hollow space between memory and silence, in the fragile hour when the world is half-asleep. She lies awake, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling, the glow of the streetlight casting restless shadows across her face. He had said them so easilywords like tiny, polished stones flicked into her chest. Youre too sensitive. Its not a big deal. You always make things complicated. He never raised his voice, never shouted. He didnt have to. His calmness was a blade with no edge visiblesharp only in how it made her question herself. And so every night, she replays them. Not because she wants to, but because her mind doesnt know how to stop. She dissects each syllable, wonders if maybe hes rightif she really is too much, too fragile, too difficult to love. But tonight feels different. Maybe its the stillness outside, or the faint rhythm of rain against the window. She gets up, pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders, and walks to the mirror. For the first time, she looks at herself not as something broken, but as something enduring. The bruises arent visible, but she can trace their shape in her reflection. And she realizes something shes never said aloud: Its not that his words cut too deep. Its that she finally understands she doesnt have to keep bleeding. She exhalesa long, trembling breath that feels like the first one in yearsand whispers into the quiet room, No more. The rain outside softens, almost as if the sky heard her. And when she goes back to bed, the silence feels lighter, like maybe the night isnt such a cruel place after all.