Ruthie was right. People would forget, very quickly, and that… that was probably the worst of it
Ruthie’s words rumbled in Deena’s ears as the stillness of night just sat.
You’re so perfect.
Look at your feed.
So perfect.
The hotel room lights were dimmed, her kids were fast asleep. She kicked Nechama’s shoes into the closet, dumped used towels in a corner.
So perfect. Look at your feed.
She didn’t want to, but Ruthie’s word were a command, and — sinking into an armchair under the glow of a lamp — her fingers obeyed. She tapped the code on her phone, opened Instagram.
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