Betrayed by Someone She Trusted: The Heartbreaking Story of Jasmine Clausell’s Brutal Attack That Left Her Fighting for Her Life! – 1376

She never imagined pain could feel this heavy.
She never imagined betrayal could burn deeper than flame.
And she never imagined that a moment of kindness would one day leave her fighting for her sight, her healing, and her trust in the world.

Jasmine Clausell lay in a hospital bed, her face wrapped in soft white gauze.
She was only twenty-seven, a young mother, a nursing student, someone who had always believed in helping others even when she herself had little to spare.
But on this night, as machines beeped steadily around her, she whispered the words that held more weight than she intended.

“I’m not really mad.
My feelings is hurt.”

The sentence trembled from her lips.
Not from anger, not even from fear.
But from heartbreak — heartbreak that came from someone she once called a friend.

The chemical burns on her face were severe.
The liquid had splashed across her left eye, down her cheek, and onto parts of her body she couldn’t even see beneath the bandages.
Her skin throbbed as if it were still burning.
Her eye pulsed with every heartbeat.
But none of it compared to the ache sitting heavy inside her chest.

Two weeks earlier, Jasmine had opened her door to someone in need.
A friend — or at least she believed that was what they were.
Quicheay Williams had been homeless in Atlanta, wandering the streets with nothing but a few bags and her dog.
Jasmine didn’t hesitate.
She told her to come to Mobile, that she could stay with her, that she shouldn’t be alone in a city where danger lived on every corner.
Jasmine offered safety, warmth, and a roof — the same kindness she hoped someone would offer her if life ever pushed her that far.

But sometimes kindness is met with darkness.
Sometimes generosity is met with resentment.
And sometimes a heart with good intentions unknowingly invites harm inside.

At first it was small things — murmurs of complaint, long sighs, heavy footsteps echoing through the house.
Jasmine felt the energy shift, the air grow tense, but she tried to give her friend grace.
Everyone goes through things, she told herself.
Everyone has bad days.
But the bad days spilled into one another.
The moping became constant.
There was no gratitude, not even a flicker of appreciation for the home she had been welcomed into.

By Monday morning, Jasmine felt something inside her finally snap.
She had a four-year-old son to care for, classes to attend, work to keep up with.
She couldn’t carry someone else’s chaos anymore.
So before waking her little boy and getting ready for school, she turned to Williams and said the words she had been avoiding.

“It’s time for you to go.”

There was no yelling.
No anger.
Just exhaustion.
Just a plea for peace.

Williams stood up and began packing, her calmness almost unsettling after days of tension.
Jasmine shrugged it off.
She went back to her room, back to her bathroom, preparing for another long day.
She didn’t know her life was only minutes away from shattering.

While brushing her hair, she heard something — the microwave door, the beep, the hum of it coming to life.
Her eyebrows pulled together.
It was early.
Too early for anything like that.
Still, she continued getting ready, trying not to overthink it.

Then she heard footsteps.
When she stepped out, Williams was standing in front of her, holding a cup.
A cup Jasmine would later learn was filled with a caustic mixture strong enough to burn holes through furniture and clothing.

In the same moment, Williams’ grandfather, who had been sleeping, woke to the noise.
He stepped into the hallway at the exact instant everything went wrong.

Williams’ face twisted with rage.
A rage so sudden, so violent, Jasmine felt her stomach drop.

“I’m not going nowhere,” Williams snapped.
“What you gonna do?
You gonna put me out?
You gonna make me leave?”

The words were sharp, rapid, frantic.
The air crackled with danger.
And Jasmine knew — she knew — something terrible was coming.

She reached for her phone.
Dialed 911.
Her fingers trembled as she spoke to the dispatcher, trying to explain that her friend was spiraling, that the situation was getting out of control.

As she talked, she saw Williams shove past her grandfather, forcing her way deeper into the hallway, deeper into the home.

Then the world turned white.

The liquid hit her face before she even understood what was happening.
Fire — that’s what it felt like.
Fire that clawed down her cheek, into her eye, onto her neck.
She screamed.
Her skin blistered instantly.
Her vision blurred.

She staggered back, hands grabbing blindly at the walls.
But through one eye — the eye that hadn’t been burned shut — she saw something worse.

Williams reaching into her pocket.
Metal glinting.
A gun.

Terror surged through Jasmine’s body.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She felt herself falling, scrambling, fighting to keep sight of her attacker with her one working eye.

The struggle erupted fast — frantic, desperate, violent.
Her grandfather lunged forward, grabbing the gun just in time.
The weapon clattered to the floor as they wrestled.
But Williams wasn’t done.
She grabbed a shard of broken glass, slashing at Jasmine’s hands, cutting deep into her skin.

Blood dripped down Jasmine’s arms.
The chemical burns scorched her face.
Her eye throbbed.
Pain blurred into panic, panic into instinct.

And somehow — somehow — Jasmine fought back.
She overpowered the woman who had once been her friend.
Pinned her.
Held her down.

Afterward, Williams pleaded.
Begged to be let go.
But Jasmine only shook her head, tears streaming down her burning face.

“No,” she said.
“You trippin’.
You need to chill out.”

Minutes later, officers arrived.
Williams was taken away — to a cell in Mobile’s Metro Jail.
And Jasmine was taken to a hospital room where her mother held one of her hands and her four-year-old son held the other.

Hours passed.
Doctors worked.
Pain lingered.
And questions hung in the air like smoke.

Jasmine didn’t know why any of it happened.
Why kindness had been met with cruelty.
Why generosity had been repaid with violence.
Why someone she considered a friend had chosen to hurt her so deeply.

And despite it all — despite the burns, the cuts, the scars forming on both her skin and her heart — she murmured something no one expected.

“I still do care about her.”

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears.
Her son curled against her arm, frightened but relieved she was still here.
Jasmine stared up at the ceiling, pain shadowing her expression, and added softly:

“It’s crazy.
Cause she did me bad.
But I can’t hate her.
It’s not in my heart.”

Forgiveness is heavy.
But Jasmine carried it the way she carried everything — with quiet strength.

Now she faces a long recovery.
Her eyesight is uncertain.
The burns will take months to heal.
She is a nursing student who cannot study, a mother who cannot fully see her child’s face, a woman trying to rebuild the pieces of her life one breath at a time.

But she is alive.
She is fighting.
And she is surrounded by a family holding onto hope.

Her loved ones created a GoFundMe, praying for the support she needs — for surgeries, treatments, everyday care, and the long road ahead.

As Jasmine lies in her hospital bed, her bandages glowing softly in the afternoon light, she whispers the same words she said on the first day:

“I’m not really mad.
My feelings is hurt.”

And sometimes — those words hold more truth, more pain, and more humanity than all the anger in the world.

She Answered the Door for a Buyer — and Never Lived to Close the Sale – 1119

A Marketplace Meeting Turned Fatal: The Killing of Eliza Morales

1.
On a quiet Monday night in Downers Grove, Illinois, a routine online transaction turned into an act of devastating violence that shattered a family and stunned a community. Eliza Morales, a 30-year-old wife, mother, and expectant parent, was killed inside her apartment after what authorities say began as a Facebook Marketplace car sale. By the end of the night, Morales was dead, her unborn child had not survived, and a young suspect was facing a series of serious criminal charges that would leave a lasting mark on the suburb west of Chicago.