The distant pop of gunfire echoed through the humid night. Lina clutched her son tighter, his small frame trembling against her chest. “Maman, I’m scared,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of their hurried footsteps.

“I know, bébé,” she said, her own fear buried beneath layers of practiced calm. “We just have to keep moving.”

Behind them, Port-au-Prince burned. The gang wars had turned their neighborhood into a battlefield, and the police—the few who hadn’t fled—were powerless. Two nights ago, they had watched their neighbor’s house go up in flames, the screams inside silenced too quickly. Lina knew their turn was next.

Now, they were on the road, along with hundreds of others, shadows moving through the darkened countryside. Her husband, Marcel, walked ahead, carrying a tattered bag with the last of their belongings: a change of clothes for each of them, a few cans of food, a bottle of water. It wasn’t enough.

“Stay close,” Marcel muttered, his voice low and urgent. His eyes scanned the horizon, always watching, always bracing for danger.

They reached a checkpoint—a gang-controlled bridge. Lina’s stomach tightened. Men with rifles lounged near a bonfire, their laughter chilling.

“Papi!” one of them called, blocking their path. “You have to pay to pass.”

Marcel stood tall, though Lina could see the tension in his jaw. “We have nothing,” he said.

The man stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Nothing? Everyone has something.”

Lina reached into her pocket, her fingers finding the small gold bracelet her mother had given her on her wedding day. She held it out, her hand shaking. “Take this.”

The man snatched it, inspecting it briefly before waving them through. Lina felt a knot loosen in her chest, but the relief was short-lived.

They walked in silence until the bridge was far behind. Her son finally spoke, his voice small. “Will we ever go home, Maman?”

Lina stopped, crouching to meet his eyes. Tears threatened to spill, but she forced a smile. “Home is where we’re together,” she said. “As long as we have each other, we’ll find a new home.”

Marcel turned, his face softened by the moonlight. “She’s right,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find somewhere safe. We’ll start over.”

Lina nodded, though the weight of uncertainty pressed down on her. They walked on, toward the promise of a border, a boat, a haven.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, but in the quiet moments, Lina held onto a fragile thread of hope: the belief that even in a world that had abandoned them, they could still carve out a future. One step at a time.