On January 29, when I call up D to check on M, his wife picks up the phone. She tells me that D has gone to the night shelter to get dinner. I can hear a child cry in the background – but I am not sure if it’s M or her baby sister. When I tentatively ask if M is better, she tells me that she hasn’t been eating much and has only had once biscuit the entire day. “She cries a lot when she tries to pee. Her external genitals were completely torn before the surgery,” she tells me, in an almost matter-of-fact tone.