After he finished his schadenfreude, he stood up, adjusted his clothes, and took out a small knife from his pocket. I stared at the knife in terror, using every ounce of my strength to pray for him. He crouched in front of me, tapping my face with the blade, sending a chilling cold through my entire body.

He began rifling through my bag, finding my medical report with clear details of a seven-week-old baby inside me. He put the paper back into the bag, sheathed the knife, and covered my body with the torn clothing. I was relieved that this nightmare was nearing its end, grateful to be alive.

As...