I’ll never forget the sight of my kidnappers, dressed all in black and wearing ski masks, waiting for me in a white cell in the Bangkok detention site. My husband and I had fled Colonel Qaddafi’s regime, moving from country to country to stay away from his killers. We were on our way to Europe when we were seized in Malaysia and sent to Bangkok, where the Thais handed us to our kidnappers — people I now know, from documents found in Libya, were with the C.I.A. A man grabbed my head and shoved me into a truck. They blindfolded and trussed me.

I don’t understand why I was taken. I assume that the C.I.A. went after my husband because he led an Islamist group that openly opposed the Qaddafi dictatorship. But what did that have to do with me? I come from a small town in Morocco. I was not a political dissident. I’d never been to Libya until the C.I.A. flew me there, and I never meant the United States any harm. I hardly thought about the United States until I was chained to the wall in the C.I.A. black site.

I have no idea how long I was in the Thai secret prison because no one would let me sleep. The cell was white and stark, with nothing in it but a camera and hooks on the wall. The masked abductors were waiting. I was terrified. They chained me to the hooks. Because I was midway through my pregnancy, I could barely move or sit.

Some of what they did to me in that prison was so awful I can’t talk about it. They hit me in the abdomen just where the baby was. To move me, they bound me to a stretcher from head to toe, like a mummy. I was sure I would shortly be killed.