The days passed, one worse than the other. The police never released us, and each passing hour sealed in my body a reality about where I was. There was no food, no drinking water—just constant hunger, exhaustion, and feeling confined and having no way of escaping.
Nora was waning. She could not even talk, and could merely produce faint whimpers of agony. Her face, which was filled with light, was now pale, and her mouth was cracked and dried. I held her, but this by no means assuaged the misery felt.
“They won’t let us go, Peace,” she whispered one day, half-whispering. “I don’t think anyone would trust us or be interested in our well-being and mental health.”
I breathed deeply, and I didn’t allow my emotions to weigh me down. “We’re going to find a solution to all these. Giving up is
