The missile exploded only 5 ft. from where I sat with my children. The attack killed my 13-year-old son Abdullah and six others; my 10-year-old niece Joud, my stepmother Intisar, my aunt Fatima, my aunt Khariyya, my cousin Fawziyya, and our neighbor Hamad. It also seriously injured 10 of us, including myself and two of my other three children. Only my son Abdelrahman was spared.
Those of us who survived grabbed what little we could scramble together and made our way across the city into a small apartment that my brother had rented before the war, which I and many experts consider a genocide. This tiny two-bedroom apartment was never meant to house 20 people, but we had no other choice.
With poor medical infrastructure in Rafah due to the war, I spent several weeks at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, recovering from injuries and filled with grief from the loss of my dear son Abdullah. The amount of suffering I saw in the hospital is beyond human endurance. The influx of corpses was endless.
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