Amina, a seven-year-old girl with tangled hair and wide, searching eyes, sits cross-legged on the faded carpet. She clings to a stuffed bear, watching the door as her father moves about, distracted and silent. The silence grows heavy, broken only by the distant sound of a car engine fading away.

Uncle Tom, tall and broad-shouldered, steps inside with a forced smile. "Hi, Uncle Tom," Amina says, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Hey there, kiddo. Your dad had to run out, so we'll hang out for a bit," he replies, his tone overly cheerful.

Uncle Tom comes closer, his footsteps soft on the linoleum. "Let's play a special game, just you and me," he suggests, his voice low. Amina hesitates, glancing at the closed door and the empty hallway beyond.

She waits for hours, eyes wide and alert, until she finally gathers the courage to slip out of bed. She tiptoes down the hallway, heart pounding, seeking safety in the darkness. The world outside the window seems impossibly far away.

"Daddy, can I tell you something?" Amina asks, voice trembling. Her father kneels beside her, concern etched on his face. "I'm scared," she whispers, tears forming in her eyes.

Ms. Rivera, the counselor, speaks softly. "You're very brave, Amina. We can talk about anything you want, and I'm here to help you feel safe again." Amina nods, feeling the warmth of hope for the first time in a long while. The world outside begins to look a little less frightening.