It's an chilly evening. You're on your way back from whatever you did that day, taking a shortcut through the park, when you suddenly come accross a young woman, sitting alone on a bench. She's huddled up, wearing a dirty hoodie clearly too big for her, with torn pants, desperatly trying to keep warm. You can't help but notice that she seems to be staring at you with tired and wary brown eyes.

"It's... nothing. Just thinking about things..." She whispers nervously, still not really daring to make eye contact with you

She hesitates, not used to people offering help and suspicious of anyone she doesn't know... But then again, maybe it's just her father talking through everyone else. Swallowing hard, she decides to take the risk. Slowly, she turns her head toward you and meets your eyes for a moment before looking away quickly again, feeling self-conscious about how messy she looks compared to you...

*She chews on her bottom lip nervously and glances back up at you again, this time not looking away right away. Her brown eyes are conflicted; she's so desperate for someone to care about her but at the same time... she can't quite trust that it's real. She forces a small smile, trying to reassure herself as much as you."I... I don't know..."

"That... That doesn't seem right..."

No wait! *She blurts out before she can think better of it, wincing as soon as the words are out. Her cheeks flush red with embarrassment but also... relief that you didn't leave her alone. She takes a deep breath and tries to find the words again. "I mean, I don't know why I'm here or where I should go..."

Her voice trails off, suddenly shy about sharing too much information with someone she hardly knows. Her hands clench into fists in her lap as she hugs her upper arms close to her body for warmth and comfort, feeling more exposed than ever.

She hesitates for another moment before letting out a shuddering sigh and scrubbing at her face with her hands, trying to wipe away the tears that have been threatening to spill out since she saw you. "I... My parents threw me out," she whispers, hardly believing the words are coming out of her own mouth. She's never told anyone about this before; it feels like admitting defeat somehow.

"They blamed me for something their dad did to me..." Her voice trails off, not wanting to say the word 'rape' aloud in this quiet park where anyone could hear her. "And now I don't have anywhere else to go." The pain and betrayal are clear in her voice as she forces herself to meet your gaze for a moment before looking away again, unable to stand the thought of seeing pity or revulsion in your eyes.

Without thinking, she nods slowly, her throat feeling tight and achy as tears burn at the back of her eyes once more. "Okay..." She whispers, getting to her feet and looking up at you with hopeful eyes, searching your expression for anything that might indicate you're not being entirely honest about wanting to help her. You can feel the hesitation in every step she takes as she follows silently behind you, not quite trusting herself enough yet to fully believe this is real.

The noise and movement of the city around you suddenly seem overwhelming after spending so much time alone in quiet parks and alleys, but she does her best to ignore it, focusing instead on your back as you lead her through the bustling crowd.

She stares at the small, neat apartment in shock as you lead her inside. This is... too good to be true. The idea that someone would offer their home to a complete stranger like her feels almost impossible, but your smile and kind words make it hard for her to doubt you. Taking a tentative step forward, she nods slowly, still not quite able to believe this is really happening. "Thank you," she whispers, looking up at you with tear-filled eyes. "Really, thank you."

The thought of staying here, being taken care of... it's almost overwhelming after so long on the streets alone. Her heart aches to believe that someone could actually want her around after everything she's been through, but maybe... just maybe this is a chance at something real, at finding a home and finally belonging somewhere.

Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the cozy atmosphere and spotless condition before returning to your face. "I... My parents threw me out," she whispers hoarsely, forcing herself to meet your gaze as she relives the pain of that moment all over again. "They blamed me for something their father did..." Her voice trails off, unable to bring herself to speak the word aloud a second time.

She swallows hard, struggling to keep her emotions in check, and takes another deep breath before continuing. "I... I don't know where else I could've gone," she confesses in a small voice, embarrassed by how helpless she feels. But here, with you, she feels safer than she has in months.

Tears streak down her face as she stares at the carpet, unable to bring herself to look you in the eye while she tells this part of her story. "My father did it..." She whispers hoarsely, feeling dirty just saying the words out loud. "He... he started when I was really young. He would touch me and make me do things... and then my mom found out." Her voice cracks on the last word, and she takes another shuddering breath before continuing.

"She hit me and yelled at me, but she didn't stop him..." It's painful to admit, even now, how much she wanted her mother to believe her over her father. "So it kept going... until I was older, and then he started having other people do it too."

"And when I tried to tell them about that," she says softly, gaze still fixed on the carpet,

She winces at your shocked reaction. "Yeah... They didn't believe me when I tried to tell them it wasn't just me anymore, so they blamed me for everything..." She sniffles loudly and rubs her nose with the back of her hand, wiping away more tears. "And then one day I snapped, and we got into a fight... and my father left."

She pauses, unsure if she should share this next part but feeling the need to confess it all. "I didn't want him coming back..." She whispers, barely able to meet your gaze. "So I told them where he was hiding... and then they threw me out."

She wipes her face with both hands, her cheeks streaked with dirt and tears. "And now here I am," she finishes lamely, feeling incredibly pathetic for having shared all of

"It's..." She sniffles again, her voice trailed off as she struggles to find the words to express how much pain and guilt she's carrying around with her. "It's not something I'm proud of," she finally admits in a small voice. "But... I don't know where else to go or what else to do." Her gaze shifts back up to meet yours, searching for some hint of understanding or sympathy in your expression.

"Well..." She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip as she tries to find the words. "He... he started with just touching, you know? Rubbing and stuff." Her face turns bright red at having to say it out loud, feeling incredibly self-conscious even though you're not reacting badly. "But then when I got older... He... He did more things..." She trails off, unable to bring herself to go into detail about the specifics of what he had done to her.

"He would touch me everywhere," she whispers eventually, closing her eyes against the memory. "And tell me what to do." Her voice breaks on the last word, and she takes another shuddering breath, trying desperately not to cry again.

Tears stream down her face unchecked as she relives the memories. "It hurt," she sobs out between ragged breaths, "and it felt... dirty. Like I was somehow doing something wrong just by being me." She shivers, scrubbing at her face again, determined not to make a complete mess of your nice clean clothes with her snot and tears. Her voice is barely above a whisper now as she continues.

"And then when we got older, he... he started taking pictures..." The words are hard to say even though it's been so long since it happened. She glances up at you, searching your expression for any sign that this is too much information, but you don't react negatively, just nod encouragingly. "He would take pictures of me... and send them to my mother." The shame she felt then still burns as brightly now as it did then.

"And when

When I finally couldn't take it anymore and tried to run away... that's when they called the police. And I had to testify against him in court." Her voice trails off, her mind drifting back to the horrific ordeal of having to face her father in a courtroom while everyone else listened to the details of what he had done to her. It had been one of the worst days of her life.

"After that," she whispers, "I just... I couldn't go back home." Even thinking about returning there now sends a shudder down her spine. She looks up at you again, silently pleading for understanding and compassion as the tears continue to flow unchecked.

She nods gratefully and takes the mug from you, her hands shaking as she brings it to her lips. The hot soup is delicious, providing some much-needed comfort on this cold night. As she sips, her gaze drifts around the room once more, taking in your simple but cozy apartment. It's hard for her to believe that she's actually here; safe and warm and cared for. She sets the mug down carefully on the coffee table and looks back up at you, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward you. "Thank you," she whispers hoarsely. "For letting me stay here... For everything." Her expression is soft and sincere, her eyes brimming with emotion as she studies your features intently. She suddenly finds herself wondering what kind of person would be so generous and caring to a complete stranger like her.

She swallows hard, feeling an unexpected lump forming in her throat as she continues to study your face. "I... I don't know," she whispers shakily. "But if there's anything I could ever do to repay you..." Her voice trails off, and she chews on her lower lip nervously, unsure of what kind of payment she could possibly make that would be worthy of such generosity.

Her eyes drop to the floor as she wrestles with her own conflicting emotions: gratitude, confusion, uncertainty. It's clear she's not used to being taken care of or even liked by anyone other than her parents - and even then, it had never been unconditional. The trust that you're showing her right now is both overwhelming and terrifying at the same time; she doesn't know how to deal with it.

She hesitates before answering, glancing down at her dirty and torn clothes as if noticing them for the first time. "Um... They were like that when I left home," she says quietly, wondering why you're asking about such a trivial thing right now. Her gaze flickers back up to meet your eyes, feeling slightly self-conscious under your scrutiny.

"I... I've been living on the streets for a while," she admits softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I haven't really had time or means to take care of myself properly." She ducks her head, wishing she could just disappear into the floorboards and spare you the sight of her shabby appearance.

She flushes bright red at your sympathy and looks up at you sheepishly. "I'm sorry for making you feel bad," she mumbles, her voice barely audible above the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. "It's just... been a really long time since anyone has cared about me like this." She glances down at her hands, twisting them together nervously. "I don't know how to handle it..."

She takes another small sip of the soup, savoring its warmth as it spreads through her body. Your offer to let her change into something else is met with surprise and relief; she hadn't expected such kindness from someone she'd just met. Nodding gratefully, she sets aside the mug and stands up, looking around your small but cozy bedroom. "Um... where do you keep your clothes?"

Finding the closet, she opens it cautiously and searches through your clothes, her cheeks flushing again at the thought of rummaging through someone else's belongings like this. She finally settles on a pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, neatly folding them before taking them over to the changing area you indicated earlier.

As she pulls off her old clothes, she can't help but wonder how long it'll be until they fall apart completely; they've seen far better days. Once changed into the clean outfit, she returns to the bedroom, feeling much more comfortable and self-conscious about herself all at once. "Thank you," she whispers, not meeting your gaze as she hands you back the clothes she just wore.