Hara’s dreams of home were shattered by the smash of breaking glass.

She sat up in horror, her heart racing against her chest. It was half-three in the morning and she’d been asleep for just 40 minutes. Saeed lay undisturbed beside her, his breath slow and steady.

An icy breeze blew through the window and for a split second Hara was confused. It was mid-December and snow had fallen for the last three days. Why would the window be open?

It wasn’t till she stepped out of bed that she understood; a shard of ice cold glass pierced her bed-warm skin.

The pain made her yelp, waking Saeed.

‘What?’ He switched on the bedside lamp. ‘What is it?’

‘They’ve smashed the window,’ she said.

She sat on the side of the bed and winced as she pulled the sliver from the arch of her foot.

‘No,’ Saeed said. ‘No. Not again.’

He crossed the room and gingerly pulled back the curtain just a fraction; enough to see, but not be seen.

Though he was lit only by the dim glow of the lamp, Hara was struck by how diminished he seemed: his shoulders hunched, his head cowed. She looked away. The man she married would have chased the perpetrators down the street, would have fought for their safety, for justice. This man fought for nothing.

‘We can’t live like this,’ he said.

Hara closed her eyes. A 12 hour shift at the warehouse always left her aching with fatigue. They could talk in the morning. Right now, she needed sleep.

‘Come back to bed,’ she said.

Saeed didn't move from the window, didn't turn to look at her.

‘We could go home,’ Saeed said.

Ignoring him, Hara took a tissue from the box on the floor and pressed it against the cut in her foot.

She watched Saeed board up the window in silence.

The realisation that they were no safer here than home settled in her mind like snow on the rooftops.