"Give me that," their elderly maid said, reaching out to take the towel from Mia's hand as she gently dabbed warm water onto the bruises marring her arm. Bernie, the man with whom Mia lived, had once again proven to be a source of pain and turmoil. "I don't understand, Mia. Why can't you just leave that man? Look at yourself in the mirror. Don't you feel any pity for the person staring back at you? I, for one, feel nothing but sorrow for you," the old woman's voice quivered with a mixture of frustration and empathy. Mia glanced at her reflection in the mirror with a distant gaze, her tears flowing like a river. Yes, she did feel sorry for herself. For quite some time now, she had been wallowing in self-pity, trapped in a cycle of abuse and despair. Yet, as the old saying goes, "With whom she stumbled, so she has endured everything." "I-I don't have any money, Nanny Ising. Even if I wanted to leave, I don't have a single cent in my wallet," Mia's voice trembled as she admitted the ha
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