THE LOCK SEEMED old and rusty but no matter how hard Georg pulled on it, it wouldn’t budge an inch. The night got stuck with hearing the repetitive groaning and panting of a man forcing his way out. He tries one more time after a few intervals, his hand bloodied by blisters. A hand pulled him away from the gate. “It’s no use,” he looked back to see his wife Beth, bloodied and ragged as she used her few remaining ounces of strength to pull her anxious husband back. They sat back to find nothing different than his struggles. They sweat blood and tears through the night; their only company the iron bars of their abode, their countless thoughts of escape, and in the cradle of the mom, their sweet little child.
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