Iyad al-Masri and his wife mourn their three children, one killed, one captured, and one missing. Iyad al-Masri and his wife. Three children separated by war, one killed, one captured, and one missing, and a pain too great for a displacement tent. In a corner of a displacement camp, under the roof of a tattered tent that offers no protection from winter cold or summer heat, Iyad al-Masri and his wife sit, burdened by the pain of loss. They recount the story of their three children, separated by war, leaving an unhealing wound in their hearts. Youssef, the eldest son, was killed; Firas is held captive; and Jihad is still missing, leaving his parents caught between the pain of loss and the bitterness of waiting, clinging to the hope of knowing his fate and reuniting with the rest of their family. Amidst incessant tears and ever-present memories, the couple's suffering intensifies in the harsh tent life, where space is cramped, blankets are worn out, basic needs are lacking, and the simplest elements of a dignified life are absent. The details of their daily lives become another battle, no less harsh than the pain of separation. This is how Iyad al-Masri and his wife live, carrying in their tent the story of three children, each with a different pain, while hope remains for Firas's return from captivity, for knowing Jihad's fate, and for preserving the memory of Youssef, who was taken by death but never left their hearts.