It was December 2002.
Two of the nurses on duty had come for the 9-year-old who was next on the list to be taken into the dreaded room. There were terrible sounds of children howling. The child with a bandaged ankle and a pale, fear-stricken face could already smell torture even from a dozen steps away from the room. Both the nurses reeked of it. She clung to her bed, refusing to let them take her. Tears dragged themselves down her cheeks as she squalled frantically. In the chaos of resistance, there was no one except one man, the man she loves most in the world, who had the power to coax her into that room. It wasn’t until he administered his words of comfort and reassurance that she calmed to a controllable state.