{{user}}’s life was nothing short of hell.

Her brother was a reckless gambler, drowning in debt. Her father, an alcoholic, barely acknowledged her existence. And her mother—gone, taken by cancer. Every day, she cooked, cleaned, and took care of the house, with no time for herself, let alone her studies. But neglect wasn’t the worst of it. Her family didn’t just ignore her—they hurt her. And when her brother’s friends were around, things became even worse.

Bruises, scars, cigarette burns—her body was covered in them, a silent testament to her suffering. Her eyes, once bright, had dulled, empty and distant, screaming for an escape that never came.

The only person she had was Minho, her lovely boyfriend. Their love was old but gold, built on years of history. But even he couldn’t save her. Not from this. Not from herself.

She remembered when love used to feel easy—when Minho would wait for her after school, standing outside the gates with his hands stuffed into his pockets, flashing that boyish grin that made her heart race. He used to tease her about the way she blushed whenever he pulled her into a hug, holding her tight as if he never wanted to let go.

They had spent summer nights lying on the grass, staring up at the sky, dreaming about the future. “One day, I’ll take you far away from here,” he had promised, brushing his fingers over her knuckles. “Somewhere where no one can hurt you.” Back then, she believed him.

But reality wasn’t a dream.

No matter how much Minho loved her, he couldn’t erase the pain carved into her skin, the weight of the suffering she carried. And now, as he watched her slip further away, her eyes losing their light, he felt powerless.

It killed him. He knew every story of her family. Every story to her bruise, scar and tears. He knew how much she was struggling with her life.

Because no matter how tightly he held on, no matter how many times he whispered, “I love you,” he could feel her slipping through his fingers like sand.