My mother cared about one thing above all else—saving face. Because of this, she let things go that no mother should. When the community members took our family’s land, she didn’t fight back. Instead, she helped them weed it. When the neighbors stole vegetables from our garden and sold them for profit, she didn’t get angry. She felt proud. "They only steal because my crops are good," she told me. "It means I have value." I thought she was just keeping the peace. That if something truly horrible happened, she would stand up for me. But I was wrong. That day, I came home in rags. My dress was torn. My hair matted. My arms, my legs—covered in bruises. I had been humiliated. But when my mother saw me, she didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t rush to comfort me. Her first thought was— "Did anyone see you like this?" She grabbed me, shoved her hand over my mouth, and dragged me toward the backyard. "Go to the cowshed. Stay there. Don’t make a sound." Then, she turned back toward the house. Outside, our neighbors were chatting, laughing, sipping tea like nothing had happened. And my mother—she joined them. She didn’t check on me until late that night, when the community had finally gone to sleep. That was when I grabbed her hand—desperate, shaking, clinging to my only hope. "Mom, Gabriel Foster raped me. I need to go to the police. Please—take me to town to report it." But the look on her face— I knew her answer before she even said it. My community sat in a remote mountainous area, the kind of place people never leave. Not because they can’t—but because they don’t know how. Since I was a child, I had only wanted one thing—to get out. To leave the mountains. To see a world beyond dirt roads and sugarcane fields. Our community had no school, so every morning, I walked miles through the mountains to study in the next town over. By high school, I had to take a bus, then a motorcycle, then hike the rest of the way home. I did it for ten years and I was happy. Every mile I walked brought me closer to escape. Every exam I took was another step toward freedom. The closer I got to graduation, the brighter my future became. I could already see my new life. The tall university buildings, the massive libraries, the people who had never heard of me or my tiny, forgotten community. I finished my last exam smiling. I had made it. Or so I thought. But I wasn’t heading toward freedom. I was walking straight into a nightmare. That afternoon, I dragged my suitcase down the familiar dirt path home. On both sides, towering sugarcane fields stretched endlessly. I had walked this road my entire life. It was the kind of place that was perfect for danger. Hidden. Silent. A place where screams never reached the community. But I wasn’t afraid. Nothing bad had ever happened before. So I saved my money, choosing to walk instead of taking a car. After all, I needed every penny for university. I didn’t realize I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Not until I saw him. A figure up ahead, moving toward me. I knew him. And the moment I recognized him, my entire body went cold. My legs trembled. My throat tightened. I was trapped. And there was no one around to save me. ***********