My name is Aya Ahmed, a 30-year-old mother from Gaza, and the mother of Sara. I write these words with a heart heavy with sorrow after more than two years of living under a war that has stripped us of every trace of normal life. We lost our home—the place that once sheltered us and held our laughter and simple dreams. Everything we owned has turned into rubble and scattered memories beneath the dust. We no longer have a roof to protect us or walls to contain our fear. Instead, we seek refuge in a worn-out tent that cannot shield us from the cold of winter, the heat of summer, or the harsh rain. Each night, I hold my daughter close, trying to plant a fragile sense of safety in her heart, while fear silently consumes mine. I often wonder how a human being can endure such pain without completely breaking.

My daughter Sarah is only three years old. She was injured when the house next to ours was bombed. In a single moment, the ground shook beneath us, and everything turned into fire, screams, and smoke. We survived by a miracle, but that moment stole her childhood and left scars and wounds on her small body that have yet to heal. She still suffers from her injury, which has exhausted her fragile body. Every time I look at the marks on her skin, it feels as though my heart is being torn open again. She no longer plays as she once did, nor does she laugh as freely as before. Instead, her eyes now carry a pain far greater than her years—an anguish no three-year-old child should ever know. Her suffering does not live in her body alone; it lives within me as well, like a deep wound that refuses to heal and a constant fear that I may not be able to provide what she needs to recover.

That is why I turn to you with the plea of a mother worn down by helplessness yet still holding on to hope. I ask for your support so I can provide food, clothing, and the basic necessities that may help Sarah endure her injury and live with dignity. We are living in conditions that no human being should have to face, and each passing day only deepens our needs and burdens. Your support could truly make a difference in my daughter’s life—it could be warmth on a cold night, medicine for her hurting body, and hope for a mother who still believes that compassionate hearts exist in this world. I humbly ask you to look upon us with humanity and extend your helping hands in any way you can. Perhaps your kindness can ease some of this long, heavy pain and give Sarah a chance to live the rest of her childhood in peace.