I thought I would find refuge in my mother’s house, but it turned out to be even more dangerous than mine. I urged the boys to sleep early; I did not want them to know about the small talk I had with Mom. She whispered to me that her neighbour worked for the police, and his house would be targeted without any warning. He evacuated on the first day of the war, while Mom, recklessly like her other neighbours, arrogantly thought she would stay even if they bombed it. “It is my house, and I will never leave it,” she said.

I hated her for risking her life and my sister’s, and I loathed myself for dragging my boys into this. It was already night time, and I did not know what to do. My husband, who was up to his elbows in the operating room, was no help. Us going out again into the streets was an act of suicide; we were trapped. Every minute passed like an eternity that night. I barely shut my eyes. I was too angry at everything and everyone, but I prayed.

“I prayed that the next-door guy was no one important and that the time of his house’s destruction was not yet due. I prayed for the sun to rise early, hours early, even if it disrupted the norm of the universe. I did not care about my house anymore; survival consumed every cell in my body.“

It finally rose. I stood on the eastern balcony and looked at it, but my eyes failed me. Never in my life had I waited so much for the sun. My mother’s big trees were filled with singing birds. How odd and uncouth? Birds. That morning, I found nothing beautiful about them. They abandon when it gets cold, they sing happily when you are grieving, and they always have a home wherever they go.

At dawn, I sent my husband a message to come and get us, explaining the urgency of the situation. I said my farewells to my mother and sisters. I spent the last energy cells in me to persuade her to leave, but it was in vain, and we left. On the route, we had to discuss where to head to and get some bread and food; bakeries and supermarkets were still operating at the time.

The streets were buzzing with people, adults and children. At first, I felt comforted; it was not as dangerous to be out as I thought it would be. But after a careful look, everybody seemed to be in a hurry, their eyes filled with fear, and no one was slacking or talking. Their yellow faces were empty of any life.

It was a fast drive and faster decision-making. We headed to my brother-in-law’s house in our family’s neighbourhood, El-Massri Street. It is the safest you could get when you go live amongst your own family. Everyone knew everyone, and if there was a probability of a house getting targeted, it would have been declared.

Dr. Sami, my brother-in-law, had built a big house for his family, but they all left during the war of 2014. We wanted to leave back then as well; I cannot recall the reasoning we made to hang on in this doomed land. My other brother-in-law welcomed us, opened the doors, and his family helped us clean the place. Among all the noise around, I sank deep into my thoughts. We were safe now. I felt like I had dropped a tremendous load off my shoulders and swept it away with the sand. I took my first deep breath for the first time since the day before. It was filled with dust and relief.