I'm I'm You know, Boston and Massachusetts is one of America's oldest cities.

It was founded in 1630 by Puritan settlers and became the cradle of the American Revolution. By the

19th century it had transformed into an industrial powerhouse and a gateway for immigrants seeking

new lives. Waves of Irish-Italian and later Cape Verdean families arrived at its ports, building

communities that would shape the city for generations. By February of 2019, Boston's Seaport District had transformed from industrial waterfront

into one of the city's trendiest areas.

Glass-walled restaurants and upscale nightclubs drew crowds every weekend.

Young professionals and college students alike flooded the street after dark, seeking escape in the pulsing music and dim lights of establishments, such as venue.

Venue was exactly the kind of place people went through to forget their troubles.

On the night of the 23rd of February 2019, the temperature had dropped to the low 30s. It was cold enough that your breath

misted in the air, cold enough that you wanted to get inside, get warm, get somewhere safe.

It was just after 2 a.m. when the nightclub's doors opened and guests spilled out onto

Tremont Street. The music had stopped, the lights had come up, everybody was heading home.

Among the crowd was a young woman in an orange jumpsuit and a denim jacket.

She had no shoes.

She was just barefoot on the freezing pavement.

She was alone now, but she hadn't meant to be.

There was an Uber parked at the curb, its interior light glowing. The young woman tapped on the window, then climbed into the

front passenger seat. But moments later, the door flung open. The woman fell from the car onto the

sidewalk, landing hard on the coal concrete.

There was a man standing nearby. He was watching. Jassy Correa was born in Prairie, the capital city of Cape Verde on the 26th of February

1996. The small island nation off the coast of West Africa was where her story begun,

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