Jasmine truly left.She walked away from that house without looking back, without carrying a bag, without spare clothes, without anything except the fabric clinging to her body and the blood still drying on the palm of her hand. Her steps were unsteady, her breathing irregular, but she forced herself to keep moving.The night air pierced her skin. The streets were quiet, city lights shimmering faintly in the distance. Every time she glanced back, shadows of the past seemed to chase her—shouts, harsh words, and pain that had yet to subside.“I can’t stop,” she murmured softly.She hitchhiked from one vehicle to another. Vegetable trucks, open-bed pickups, even private cars whose drivers took pity on her condition. Jasmine did not talk much. Her eyes were empty, her thoughts chaotic. All she knew was that she had to get as far away from that place as possible.City after city passed. Day turned into night, night returned to morning. Her body grew weaker, small wounds began to sting. But
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