"She was just a little girl when they snatched her from my arms. A little bud, her tiny body, that I never got to see bloom. I didn't get to enjoy it. I didn't get enough of it. Only the thorns. Only the thorns did I get enough of. At night, when the shadows of unbearable absence spread and suffocated me, I would fall to my knees, pray and hope: 'And if I ask too much of you, my Holy Mother, you are a mother too and you understand me. Like a mother's love, you know, my God, there is nothing like it in this world you created...'

Women of the civil war...
Stalks of wheat mercilessly ground by the millstones of History.
Homeland, party, betrayals, revolutions, guerrilla warfare, massacres and finally, the child abductions. The most inhumane, the darkest page of fratricidal strife. Women of the civil war...
Burning candles. Like Angela, Melpo, and Ariadne. They asked, they ran, they knocked on doors day and night, with only one hope. That maybe one day they would reunite with their children. Some succeeded.
Others did not.
Women of the civil war...
Mothers of empty arms.
This is their story...