At night darker than the smoke of bombing, the family sat together around a handful of cold, not around a fire.[cnn +1]

The house that once echoed with children’s laughter had become a pile of broken stones, and the smell of the last baked bread still floated over walls that no longer existed.[rescue +1]

The mother held her youngest child, his body shivering like a soaked bird, tiny blue fingers searching for warmth that wasn’t there, while the wind slipped in from every side as if it wanted to finish what the missile had started.[youtube +2]

The father looked up at the sky, unsure whether to keep praying or fall silent, having said everything he could to God, with only his eyes left to tell the story of a man who lost his home and the ability to feed those he loves.[wfp +2]

The children asked, “When are we going back to our home?”

No one had the courage to tell them that the house was gone, and that winter had become their only guest, visiting them every night in the tent, soaking their clothes with cold and their hearts with fear.[un +2]

Outside, rows of tents stretched as far as they could see, each tent hiding the story of another lost home, another shattered family, another dream buried under the rubble.[youtube +2]

But what hurt the most was that hunger had become the children’s voice before sleep, and the cold had become the only blanket left for those who survived.[savethechildren +2]