There was an elderly woman in that house, who was also working for the pimps. I don’t know how long she had been forced to work that way. She mocked me whenever I started praying: “Don’t waste your time,” she’d snap. “Your God doesn’t listen to prayers from a place like this.” I had seen a lot of suffering by that point, and I had experienced a lot of suffering myself, but I still prayed five times a day, and I still believed in God. My faith was what had made so many parts of this journey bearable.
