There is lots to catch up on. A situation that had been allowed to languish suddenly became a scorching. In September Nazanin was told her application for early release was being approved. Instead she had a second court case, with new charges invented. Nazanin was dragged in front of Judge Salavati in his anger. Loose comments from the Foreign Secretary were taken as justification by Iranian authorities that Nazanin was not on holiday after all. The shock gave Nazanin a PTSD attack. Many followed. Nazanin got to watch herself as an object of abuse on state TV news. She watched in shock as her charity payslips and photos of university were presented as evidence she was an important spy. She had to be carried to the clinic by her cellmates for emergency treatment. The numbness in her legs lasted days. And a political storm enveloped us in the UK over those comments, as the Foreign Secretary became personally associated with Nazanin’s fate and demands for resignations. We went from being an item on the local news to the front of national politics, the petition passing 1 million and then 1.5 million signatures. In the spotlight, the Government finally acknowledged that Nazanin was only there on holiday. Despite some Ministerial muddying, there is no doubt. The Foreign Secretary criticised Nazanin’s treatment, and after 600 days, we finally got to meet him. As the case raged, Nazanin became more important, and somehow so did I – all those cameras clicking away as we walked to see the Foreign Secretary, like we were luminaries for 15 minutes. My views on questions I had no business answering making the front pages. It felt like the sunspot of a political storm. Now connected to the Foreign Secretary, Nazanin’s story became a flagpole for other politics – the stability of the government, the politics of Brexit – sometimes even their battleground. We got exposed to a new level of trolling from those defending champions and sensing plots, seeing behind the shadow play. It made for an Icarus activism as we pushed, keep my head about what was and wasn’t our fight, learning to choose my own words carefully – that being on TV doesn’t make you wiser, just louder. The attention took the Foreign Secretary to Iran. He promised to leave no stone unturned. Following his visit Nazanin’s second court case was cancelled, her conditions improved – with daily phone calls, a health assessment to consider her release. In the elation Nazanin made Gabriella a “freedom dress” with the wool left by cellmates previously released, who didn’t take it off for a week. Just before Christmas the computer was changed. Nazanin’s case was marked on the Judiciary computer system as “eligible for parole”. The computer said yes. The Embassy told us they had heard she was going to be released on December 29th. The waiting was tough, guessing at the tealeaves. We felt so close in our Christmas countdown, advent calendar ready. Gradually we stopped talking to Gabriella about precisely when Father Christmas would come. On Christmas Day we were flat, feeling the gap at the table. In Evin Nazanin defiantly cooked Christmas pudding, hoping for a delayed present. For her Christmas reading to the others, she chose 1 Corinthians 13. But we were eclipsed by events: There was a backlash to the promise of release as the second court was again threatened. In the fiery rhetoric of Friday Prayers, an Ayatollah described Nazanin as a “dirty spy”, the Foreign Secretary a “liar and clown.” There were other demonstrations across Iran – which brought many to the prison gates looking for their relatives, fearing unexplained deaths in detention. Inside there was a snapback of old patterns – phone calls restricted, medical visits cancelled, and a new numbness in the legs. Lots of ups and downs. But no Christmas release. Life is not a film script. Part of coping is not keeping the disappointment displaced. For me, this had meant not fully envisaging the day of release, focusing on the practicalities. For Nazanin, it was the opposite – she imagined the moment of airport greetings, but even on the 28th avoided packing her clothes. But the problem with target dates is when you miss them. After all those interviews of hopeful waiting, I needed some quietness before I was ready to acknowledge it was still meals for one. For Nazanin, in this silence, failed promises soon become empty ones, a feeling she will never leave. There is only so long you can stay in the waiting room of life. The Iranian authorities are much practised at psychological games, keeping you hanging on uncertainty. Nazanin’s panic attacks and anxiety of walls closing in are the product. It is not my role to enable this. With the lengthening days it became clear the Foreign Secretary’s mission had not succeeded. We are waiting on a government stand off. We have needed to go again – to remind him of stones to unturn. There remains a promise to keep. But before we make many new requests, there is one important thing to say – a belated thank you – to everyone who put Nazanin in their hearts. Thank for all your messages, for willing the world to be a different place. Gabriella may not know much English – in fact the picture shows her full range. But she knows all that needs to be said. Nazanin tells how when she was in solitary just before she went suicidal, the guards would take it in turns to call their own young children on speaker phone just outside Nazanin’s door, to remind her what she was missing. The answer to that cruelty in the shadows is kindness and care. It was that care that put me in front of the Foreign Secretary. It is that care that will cause this winter to pass, even though it still lingers in March.