It could not have taken more than ten minutes before the unwelcome companion turned off, bidding goodbye. But to Yaakov, it had felt like hours. He tried to make up for it by increasing his pace, almost running. Once home, he didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time. Instead of ringing the buzzer, he used his key, turning it as quietly as possible so as not to alert the children.

But their small, perfect ears were not fooled.

“Tateh!” Chasya and Mordechai Shalom screamed, attempting to jump into his arms.

“What’s this, what’s this, Tateh?” Chasya cried out, trying to wrest the candy from his hands, crushing the bow.

“Stop!” he shouted at her in exasperation.

The children froze, their smiles transformed into frowns. Mordechai Shalom broke out into huge wails of indignation.

Leah came rushing into the room. She looked at him with shocked disapproval.

“I’m sorry, I just…” He held out his offerings to her.

Her frown vanished, confusion taking its place. “Yaakov … thank you. But what happened with the children?”

He watched as she hurriedly set aside his carefully chosen gifts on the dining room table, turning her full attention back to the children, crouching down and cradling them in her arms.

“I didn’t want them to … They were ruining…,” he faltered, coming close to her and lifting Mordechai Shalom out of her arms into his own. The child was still sobbing softly.

“Tateh frightened you?” he asked remorsefully. “I’m so sorry, Icy, Cheeky. They were presents for Mommy. I wanted to keep them pretty for her. Will you forgive your tateh?”

Mordechai Shalom nodded, his thumb in his mouth, his little body shaking from big, trembling intakes of air.

Yaakov reached out to Chasya, too. But she pulled away, burying her face in Leah’s skirt. “Tateh didn’t mean to scare you,” Leah whispered, nuzzling the child’s ear.

Something about this focus on his crimes suddenly filled him with unreasonable anger. “Can’t Tateh come home and have two minutes’ peace?” he fumed, putting Mordechai Shalom down and stamping his foot, which set the child off again, joined now by his sister. But this time, Yaakov didn’t care.

“These children have to learn a little discipline. I never jumped up and down on my father. I would never have dared,” he said with more vehemence than he’d intended, his spoiled hopes turning bitter as he watched the ignored bouquet already beginning to wilt, the festive ribbon of the pralines flattened against the table from the weight of its bright cardboard box.

Leah, shocked, said nothing. This was so unlike him. Then she sighed. “Come, children. Say good night to your tateh and come to bed.”