she makes my heart cry.

I try to guard myself, because I know my inability to stay at a distance. I am easily sucked into another's life experiences. I am drawn to the pain, and it is a short skip and jump until I am deep in the thick of it. I have noticed that while at work I simply go through a routine. I hear aweful stories, but that's just it, to me they are stories. I must force myself to hear stories, instead of hear life. For my own sanity it's a good skill I'm learning, but every once in a while life slips past my shield.

We sat down, facing each other. I, a distant participant; her, an intimate captive. Here we found ourselves, enclosed in a small room discussing a precious matter: her life.

There was fear in her eyes. It was not loud or outspoken; it was silent. It was held back tears and quivering words. It was her presence that made me stop interviewing and start listening. The fear poured out of her, it washed over the desk that separated us, and puddled in my lap. It soaked my skin, causing the hair on my arms to raise. The intensity and sincerity of the words she spoke cut into me like a blade. They challenged my comfort, they disarmed me.

She is a strong Latina woman. She bears the burden of many cultures to submit herself to the life she has chosen. She has passionately hoped for change to come. She has agonized over her children's right to have two parents and not one. She has spent years living a life not one human being should have to. I look at her and exhaustion is clearly etched across her face. It clothes her. The sleep-deprived circles under her eyes are a deep shade of eggplant. She is tired. Tired and fearful.

What could I offer her? What encouragement, what comfort could I give her for all the lost years?

It was fear that brought her to the doorstep of my office; but it was the same fear that drove her back home. Although there is a spark of determination, her captor holds significant, touchable power. His power is backed not only by his physical capabilities, but by culture, family ties, and most of all a discarded love.

I asked her what she wanted and her simple reply stated it all: freedom.