Dear Neighbor

These days I dread going to buy milk.

I’ve been managing without my morning coffee. When I get really desperate I ask my son to pick up a carton of milk.

The supermarket has become a painful place. I step into the fruit section and women I thought were friends pretend they don’t see me. I walk toward the nosh aisle and neighbors I’ve lived next door to for decades scurry away praying they won’t bump into me.

These days I am a leper. I’m a social outcast a community pariah — through no fault of my own. My husband once a respected balabos was recently arrested on serious charges; he is sitting in jail and my marriage is on the brink of dissolution.