Lina
The evacuation center smelled like coffee, cardboard, and stress. At this point, I was beginning to associate all three with my job. The old high school gymnasium had been converted into temporary housing less than forty-eight hours earlier.
Rows of cots filled the basketball court. Blankets had replaced sports equipment. Families occupied every available corner. Children sat on sleeping bags drawing pictures while exhausted parents pretended everything was fine.
Nobody was fine. But everyone was trying. Sometimes that was enough. I balanced a clipboard against my hip while reviewing the latest shelter assignments. The numbers looked worse than yesterday. And yesterday had looked worse than the day before.
The border attacks were becoming more frequent. More aggressive. More di
