The silence of the room weighed on Marin like a warning of what was to come. The man's body lay on the floor, motionless, his chest rising and falling slowly and rhythmically.
He was unconscious, but alive.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP...
She had to summon her courage to approach and check. With calculated steps, she leaned slightly, keeping enough distance to run if he suddenly woke up.
The spot where the vase had hit showed a visible swelling, though there was no blood.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP...
Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.
He would wake up.
And when he did, Marin would be the one to blame.
It didn't matter that everything she had done was self-defense. He would twist the facts, distort the truth, and convince her aunt that Marin was guilty of the whole situation.
She already knew the script.
Nothing in that house had ever belonged to her. Her rights had never existed. The food they gave her, the roof they provided—all of it would be used as justification to discredit her, to imprison her in that suffocating cycle.
But it would end here.
Only two months remained until her eighteenth birthday. Two fragile barriers between her and freedom. Waiting was too dangerous. Escape became the only possible choice.
But running away required money.
And that was something she had never been given. Not a single coin for years of obedience, of invisible labor in that house.
She owned nothing of value—except for one thing.
Her only possession.
She lifted her hand to the chain around her neck, closing her fingers around the small silver locket. The chain had always been there, a silent link to her mother. The piece was dented at the edge, and her aunt had never valued it, thinking it was just cheap jewelry. But Marin knew it was real—a simple jewel, placed around her neck when she was very young, with her mother's request never to take it off.
It was all she had.
And now, it was all she could offer in exchange for freedom.
With trembling hands and hurried movements, she gathered her few belongings. A small backpack, enough clothes for a few days, nothing more. She glanced around the room one last time.
That shabby storage closet that had served as her shelter would not be missed.
No note, no farewell. She walked out the front door and into the city streets.
The secondhand shop stood on a discreet corner, framed by old buildings and opaque windows. Marin stepped inside and was immediately enveloped by the smell of aged wood and oxidized metal.
The man behind the counter, gray-haired and stern-faced, lifted his eyes from the newspaper he was skimming and looked at her.
"What do you want to sell?"
She reached for her neck and pulled out the silver chain. Taking a deep breath, she laid it on the counter.
Her fingers hesitated before letting go.
It was the only memory she had of her mother.
The man picked up the locket and examined it with a magnifying glass.
"Genuine silver, but damaged. I can offer you..."
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP...
The number came out dryly from his mouth.
It was less than she had hoped.
Still, it was enough.
Enough to buy a train ticket.
Enough to leave this place.
When the money was placed in her hand, Marin gripped it tightly, as if her escape depended on the warmth of the notes against her skin.
She had never felt so torn apart.
And yet, the sea was calling her.
The train station was crowded. People came and went, each with their destinations set, unaware that a fugitive walked among them. Marin pressed the money against her chest, approached an employee, and bought the farthest ticket her budget allowed.
When the train arrived, she boarded without looking back.
The train pulled away from the station. And Marin left with it.
There were no certainties about the future, only one firm conviction: she would never return.
Inside the carriage, she leaned back in the seat and, for the first time, felt a bittersweet relief.
She was far away.
She was alone.
Yet, for the first time, solitude carried promises.
The journey was long. Marin stared out the window, watching the landscape slide by like a reflection of her life, leaving behind everything she had known.
When she arrived in the new city, the impact of the unknown hit her. The air felt different, carrying a freedom she didn't yet know how to use.
First of all, she needed shelter.
She knew that, being underage, she could not rent a room with her real documents. That meant pretending to be eighteen or finding a fake ID.
But at that moment, she had no way of obtaining one. And fraud was not in her nature. She needed another plan.
After hours of searching, she found a place that welcomed women in vulnerable situations. They were kind and did not demand too many details of her life—only that she needed help. But the stay could not be prolonged. That was one of the rules.
It wasn't comfortable.
It was far from ideal.
Still, it was safe—for now.
There she would live until she turned eighteen, when she could legally rent a small cheap room.
Days passed. The routine was simple, yet it carried an unfamiliar feeling: it was her own choice.
And after that?
She knew exactly what her next step would be.
As soon as she reached adulthood and organized her documents, she would enlist in the Navy.
The ocean was waiting for her.
It was her destiny.
Her freedom.
Her rebirth.