“And this life”—I point to the door—“the life on the other side of that wall? That’s not what I want.” My words only seem to upset him more. “Then you’d rather be dead?” he asks, angry again. “Is that what you’re saying? You’d rather be dead than try to build a life with me here?” “I would rather be dead,” I say to him, inching away from his outstretched hand, “than go back to being silent and suffocated.”
