A tiny innocent girl

The floor was cold under her knees.

Pihu—eighteen, barely 5'3, nothing but bones and trembling breath—dragged the wet cloth across the marble. Her arms shook with every movement. Anyone who looked at her would know instantly:

She wasn’t just tired.

She was broken.

Her wrists were too thin.

Her shoulders were bruised yellow and purple.

Her skin was marked like someone used her as a punching bag.

Because they did.

This house wasn’t a home.

It was a prison her parents owned, and she was the maid they never paid.

Pihu wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing a line of dust across her cheek. She blinked back tears. If she cried, her mother would beat her for “wasting time.”

She opened her mouth to speak—to talk about her day, her dreams, anything—but the sound died when—

“PIHU! Come downstairs right now!”

Her mother’s voice. Sharp. Angry. Cold.

Pihu flinched like she’d been struck already. She forced her legs to move, walked down the stairs quietly, head bowed.

“Yes… ma’am,” she whispered.

You might wonder why she called her own mother ma’am.

Because once, long ago, she had said mom, and the slap she received had made her ears ring for days. Her mother told her she wasn’t worthy of calling her that again.

So “ma’am” it was.

Her mother tapped her foot impatiently.

“Cook something. We’re hungry. And don’t take forever. Useless girl.”

Pihu nodded and hurried to the kitchen.

She started chopping vegetables, her fingers trembling. She could hear her parents’ voices from the living room—low, serious, whispering.

At first she ignored it.

Until she heard her own name.

“…tomorrow. The old man is offering good money for her…”

“…she’s already eighteen, who cares what she wants…”

“…once she’s gone we’ll finally be free of her…”

A plate slipped from Pihu’s numb hands—

CRASH!

The sound echoed through the kitchen like a scream.

Her mother stormed in.

Her father followed, face already twisted in anger.

“You stupid girl!”

“You broke it on purpose!”

“You cost us money!”

“Ungrateful thing!”

The first slap threw her against the counter.

The second made her vision blur.

The third—she didn’t feel.

Her world turned black as she fainted on the kitchen floor.

Hours Later

Pihu woke up gasping.

Her body burned everywhere. Her head throbbed. She pushed herself up and looked around the silent house.

Empty.

Her parents weren’t home.

For the first time in her life…

there was no shouting.

No footsteps.

No orders.

No threats.

Just silence.

Her thin fingers curled into fists, trembling not in fear—but in decision.

This was her chance.

If she stayed… she would be sold.

If she left… she might die on the street.

But at least death wasn’t worse than this.

Pihu pulled herself to her feet, grabbed the small cloth bag she kept hidden, placed inside a single pair of clothes, and walked toward the door.

Her heart pounded painfully as she touched the doorknob.

“Please…” she whispered to herself.

“Please let me be free… just once.”

She stepped outside.

And ran.

Not looking back.

Not slowing down.

Not caring if the world swallowed her whole.

Because anything—

anything—

was better than the life she had been living.

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