“Whose little boy is this?” the owner calls sternly.
She flushes and hurries to get Yossi, who had wandered into the shoe store’s storage room.
Two hours and five cranky kids later, she leaves the store, completely wiped out. An hour and a half later in the hot, overcrowded uniform store, she (and her credit cards) are maxed out.
It’s another new year on her own.
So much to do. And no one to fall back on. It’s all on her.
She shepherds her whiny brood home.
“But Maaaa,” they wail. “School supplies! You promised we’d get school supplies today!”
“A different day, sweeties,” she says weakly. The kids tumble into the house, hot and hungry. She starts cobbling together a semblance of supper, suppressing the all-too-familiar “if only” thoughts. If only he were still here… If only I weren’t doing this alone.
Then the bell rings. It’s Yedid at the door — with briefcases bursting with shiny, new school supplies, personalized for each child.
Her boys cheer. Her girls squeal. She sags with relief.
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