The war has led us to nothing but a painful fate—a fate we did not choose, yet it chose us. Here, I try to shed light on some of the stories we lived through in a place that was once a safe haven for us, before it turned into a piece of hell. I was displaced in the city of Rafah, like thousands of others—strangers in our own land, crushed under psychological and physical humiliation. We were forced to do work far beyond our physical capacity, and found ourselves living a reality we had never known before—a nightmare we could not have imagined even in our worst dreams. Carrying water, lighting fires, baking bread… simple daily tasks elsewhere, but for us, they became small battles we fought every day just to survive. We lived every moment expecting that the next might bring news of losing someone dear. How I wished I could place my children inside my heart and walk away with them, far from all of this. I truly would have done it. The days were heavy with hardship under the sound of rockets, and the nights… were even more terrifying. We were living what could only be described as hell on earth. We waited for morning the way a starving person waits for food—if not more desperately. One day, my friend from the north managed to contact me through a rare internet connection. Her words were filled with hope. She told me she would head south, fleeing this hell with her daughter after a donor had covered the coordination costs. She was terrified for her child to the point of desperation, and that fear pushed her to knock on every door. I was so happy for her. We rejoiced when others managed to escape, as if it were salvation for all of us, in a time when we were falling one by one like rain. She told me she would come to say goodbye. I waited eagerly… longing to see a face that carried something of a beautiful past. The day she promised came… but she didn’t. Nor the next day. And with each passing day, the worry grew, and life became harsher. On the third day, I received a call from the European Hospital asking me to come. My heart raced. I looked around me—everyone was fine. So who was it? Without hesitation, I prepared to go, despite everyone’s objections. I felt that something grave awaited me. The road to the hospital was filled with danger. Bombardment was everywhere, and the explosions at sunset burned like flames devouring the sky. I covered my ears, trying to shield myself from the sound of death. I finally arrived… with a body still intact, but a shattered soul. The scene was unbearable: bodies everywhere, doctors treating the wounded in the hallways, and the smell of blood nearly made me faint. A child without limbs… a body without a head… I felt as if I had stepped into the heart of hell. Then I saw her. My friend… lying on a bed. Her hair was scattered, dried blood near her mouth, an IV connected to her hand… her body thin, as if life had quietly slipped away from it. I searched through the chaos for someone to explain what had happened. No one knew—until the doctor who had called me arrived. He said calmly: “We found your number in her phone.” Then he continued: “She was brought in from the checkpoint last night… she was with a young girl who had already passed away about a day earlier.” I opened my eyes in shock. I couldn’t speak. He added, “The mother is suffering from a severe nervous breakdown.” After that, I heard nothing. All I could think about was this: she had knocked on every door to save her daughter, and just as she came close to safety, death stole her child before her eyes. I sat beside her, holding her hand, crying silently. I called my children and told them I would stay there. I couldn’t say more. I spent the entire night by her side, watching her… as if she were asleep, except for the tears clinging to her eyelashes. I wished she would scream, speak—release the pain that had suffocated her. And in the morning… came a harsher dawn. Heavy bombardment, hundreds killed, death everywhere. Then the doctor came… And announced her death. A heart attack. I received the news alone. I cried like never before. I entered the hospital in fear… And left carrying a story of double death. Two bodies… a mother and her daughter. I accompanied them to their final resting place. Along the way, I stared at them in fear as my tears fell uncontrollably, my soul trembling from the horror I had lived. She only wanted to save her daughter… But the path to survival… became the path to death. “All we need from you is to extend a hand of help and support, at a moment when everyone else has abandoned us.”