“My daughter,” I said.

“Amara Adeyemi.

Where is she?”

The nurse looked at my face, and then at the eagle on my shoulder, and something in what she saw made her step quietly aside.

She had read the name on my uniform — Adeyemi — and the rank, and made her decision.

I found Amara alone in a small observation room, and I will not describe to you what had been done to her body, because the cataloguing of my daughter’s injuries is not what this account is for, and she is not a list of wounds.