Nechami knew that under the surface of all those battles was a stubborn, desperate craving to love and be loved
First it was Ima and Dudi. On her way back from errands, with Yossi in the stroller, Nechami was feeling good. She’d finally picked up that package from the post office, and she’d bought a new light bulb for the kitchen and a screwdriver to fix the cabinet. Which meant that tomorrow Yehudit would have new tights to wear (all the old ones had holes), there’d be decent lighting in the kitchen, and the cabinet would swing smoothly again.
As they passed through Abba and Ima’s street, she said to Yossi, all innocence, “Let’s go say hello to Savta.”
“Chaya Savta?”
“Yes, Chaya Savta,” she said with a smile.
Up the stairs they climbed, his little hand in hers. They knocked on the door. The moment it was opened, they felt the tension, scattered throughout the space like bits of shattered glass.
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
