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I didn't want her to feel responsible for what I went through.

But as I began to talk about it publicly, I had to tell her.

I thought about escaping all the time, but someone with a weapon was always watching us. I had been set up by the woman who gave me the phone number. But while he was on the phone, I saw an opportunity to escape. It was cold outside, and I was wearing only shorts and a T-shirt. I went to the police station, churches, and the Indonesian consulate, but no one would help. A man wearing a Navy uniform approached and asked what was wrong.

Our meals usually consisted of soup and rice, and the traffickers forced us to drink alcohol instead of water. Each morning, I told myself, One night in a brothel in Brooklyn, NY, several months into my ordeal, I secretly unscrewed the plywood from a window with a spoon, and the 15-year-old girl and I jumped two stories to the ground. He got mad and told me a customer was waiting downstairs. I used the little money I had brought from home and hidden in my purse to survive. After I told him my story, he bought me some food and told me he'd come back the next day.

Through another organization's training program, I got a job working with disabled children, and by September 2004, I'd saved enough money to bring Tania and my mother to New York City. I met them at the airport and hugged Tania so tightly.

Reminders from the days I was trafficked still upset me—the ring of a traditional phone or the faces of men who resemble my traffickers. I had Nicholas (his father and I divorced), and both of my children are happy and healthy. I've helped change laws so that what happened to me doesn't happen to other women.

Within minutes they led some men in handcuffs out the door. " they asked, as I peeked through a hole in a piece of paper on the car window. I was so relieved when the two girls who had been trafficked with me came out unharmed.

I grew up in Indonesia, and by the time I was 20, I had a good job as a financial analyst, a loving husband, and a young daughter, Tania. My husband and I separated, and when I was 23, he died of lung cancer. She was only 3 years old, but I feared I wouldn't be able to send her to college when the time came. A woman answered the door and pulled me inside to where a group of men sat on dirty couches.

In 1998, the Indonesian economy collapsed and I lost my job. My savings were worthless, and the job market was dismal—I knew I'd have to leave the country to find work. With money like that, Tania's education would be more than covered, so I paid a ,000 recruitment fee up front, and in June 2001, a week before my 25th birthday, I boarded a plane for America. As if to punish me for questioning him, the man led me at gunpoint to the garage and pushed me into a car. In that moment it clicked—I'd been sold into a sex trafficking ring. I realized that if I ever wanted to see her again, I had to do what I was told. When I objected to his advances, he pushed and hit me. In the morning a man took me back to the townhouse where the two other girls were staying.

Finally, someone from the immigration department took me to Safe Horizon, a nonprofit victim assistance organization that also provides shelter.

Safe Horizon sent me to ESL classes to learn more English, and eventually helped me secure refugee funds so I could rent a small room.

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