“It won’t happen again,” I said firmly, and turned to my schnitzel, wanting to end the whole conversation.
“SOI think it’s time to look into possible group homes for Chezky,” my husband said casually, leaning against the counter as I fried schnitzel.
I froze, my tongs in midair. “Why would we want to do that?” I asked, staring at him in shock. It was a few weeks after sheva brachos, and I’d been riding on a high from the simchah. “Chezky’s doing so much better lately. This new dosage is working well for him. He’s even slept every night now for a week. Things are going great!”
“For now,” said my husband ominously. “Until next time.”
“Why should there be a next time?” I argued. “If the issue was medication, then we’ve got it licked. I don’t see any purpose in looking into options of something we’re never going to need.”
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