On Succos, we gather our crops, reflect on our harvest. In life, we gather our experiences, appreciate what we’ve gained
It wasn’t supposed to end now. It had only just begun.
I stare at my husband of just half a year, trying to swallow the queasiness that climbs up my gut.
“But… why?” I ask again.
He hasn’t said a word. Not for weeks and months, morning, afternoon, evening. How was your day, fine, how was yours. There was nothing to prepare me for the bombshell.
Or was there? Have I simply ignored the warning signs, content in a bubble of newlywed bliss? Has he been deceiving me, or have I been the one fooling myself?
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