Rabab Al-Mudwahi was returned to prison like stolen goods returned to thieves’ vaults. The head of the Information Department at the National Democratic Institute (NDI) was only granted a brief respite from the prison walls, a fleeting moment of light that allowed her to bid farewell to her late mother. Just a few hours, then the iron gate closed again, as if she had never left, as if the grief she carried was another charge deserving punishment.

The death of Rabab’s mother was not just a fleeting event in the saga of pain. It was a mirror reflecting the faces of thousands of mothers and fathers who had their loved ones ripped from them, snatched from their homes, their dreams, their lives, and thrown into windowless prisons. All the loss, all the helplessness, all the lamentation condensed in that moment when Rabab was returned to her cell, as if death alone was not enough.

But there is pain that cannot be spoken, pain no language can carry. It is the agony that gnaws at the souls of mothers and fathers when their

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