I am Osama, 42 years old, from Gaza

I used to live a simple yet dignified life with my wife and our three children: *Lana* (12), who loves drawing and dreams of becoming a teacher; *Hamza* (10), who never lets go of his football; and *Bana* (5), the heart of our home, whose laughter used to ease all my exhaustion. My wife is currently pregnant with our fourth child—we were eagerly awaiting the new baby, despite our hardships.

I worked in a carpentry workshop, living hand to mouth, but with pride. We had a small house on the outskirts of the city, built with love and sacrifice, stone by stone. But the recent war took everything from us.

In a single moment, I lost it all. Our home was destroyed, my workshop burned down, and the whole neighborhood vanished like it never existed. Now, we sleep in a shelter—with no privacy, no warmth, and no sense of safety. Hamza asks me every day, *"Dad, when are we going back home?"* And I have no answer.

My wife suffers through her pregnancy with no medicine and no proper nutrition. I can’t even afford milk for little Bana.