
The error occurs in the way the eyeshadow is applied, notably when the color extends from the outer corners of the eyes to the crease.
Here’s an image to help you understand:

It is evident from the image above that the eyeshadow application just draws attention to the hooded eyelid and the sagging outer corners of the eyes.
Although these kinds of tints are designed to hide these kinds of flaws, eyeshadow should never be put below the lower eyelid line if you have hooded eyelids. The lower eyelid’s line should extend uninterrupted toward the outer corner

In order to do this, you ought to:
Steer clear of drawing harsh lines in the eye’s outer corners.
Avoid drawing lines in the corners of your eyes that are too black.
After all, everyone has facial expressions; you don’t just stroll about expressionless all day. Smiling distorts the sharp, black lines in the outer corners of your eyes, making them appear unsightly.
I’ll now present a comparison of how the eyes may appear to suffer if this eyeshadow application error is done, highlighting all the incorrect elements.
And this is the exact way it ought to appear.

My Wife Gradually Distanced Herself from My Daughter and Me — Then She Left an Envelope and Disappeared

When my wife began to distance herself from me and our daughter, I was baffled. My story reveals how profound love can sometimes lead to protecting loved ones in unexpected ways. Discover how we navigated through secrets, white lies, and heartbreak to ultimately strengthen our family bond.
There’s a haunting uncertainty in not knowing the full truth, particularly when it involves those closest to you. Let’s go back a bit; I’m Kevin, and Levine and I have shared 15 wonderful years of marriage.
Together, we have an incredible child, Emily, who is still young and in school. My wife and daughter are my world, and I thought we had a perfect family life. Yet, about six months ago, Levine began to withdraw from Emily and me.

Over the months, I watched as my once affectionate wife became increasingly remote. Minor changes in her behavior soon escalated into her avoiding us entirely. Her smiles became rare, and her nights restless.
I often saw her tearful in the bathroom. Whenever I tried to discuss it, she dismissed my concerns with a shaky “I’m fine,” although clearly, she was not. This unspoken tension heavily affected me and our daughter, straining our family dynamic.
“Levine, please talk to me,” I urged one night as I found her gazing out the window, her posture tense.
“I just need some air, Kevin. That’s all,” she whispered, barely audible.
My worry deepened as I approached her. “You’ve been ‘just needing air’ for months. You’re scaring me, baby. You’re scaring Emily.”
She faced me then, her eyes brimming with tears yet unshed. “I can’t, not yet…” she murmured before turning back to the window, leaving me feeling utterly helpless.
Yesterday, after picking Emily up from school, I returned to a strangely quiet home. The morning had started like any other, except Levine didn’t say goodbye. My wife, usually at home, was nowhere to be found.
But on the kitchen table, amidst our usual clutter, lay an ominous envelope with my name in Levine’s handwriting.
With a sinking heart, I opened it, trembling. Inside was her letter, penned in the same shaky hand:
“My dearest husband,
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