“Some neighbor I don’t even know, from across the street, was draying my kup with some story on the subway—”

“Not now!” she whispered fiercely, with a significant glance over at the children. “Have your dinner. Then I’ll give them both a bath and put them to bed. We need to talk. No, no, don’t look like that! It’s nothing, I promise you, bli neder.”

He believed her. Why shouldn’t he?

They had always been honest with each other, almost brutally so, holding nothing back. And it had been in that brightly lit space of truth, devoid of shade, that their love had been able to blossom, overcoming so many obstacles: the shame over past mistakes and tragedies that had for so long been hidden from others and even from themselves.

Oh, the joy of being loved for who you are, despite all your failures, mistakes, and deficiencies! The joy of being comforted, admired, and accepted! This defined the bond between them.

Besides, to hide what you are ashamed of from the person you love is such a Sisyphean task. In the end, you wind up so exhausted, it is almost a relief not to have to love or be loved anymore, not to care enough to hide.

They had never allowed that to happen. Right from the start, she had admitted to him being an unwitting part of a fraud that sold worthless medical tests that had endangered the well-being of countless people all over the world. He had expressed his sense of responsibility for giving into the entreaties of his young wife—in the throes of severe postnatal depression—not to be committed to a mental hospital because of the shame involved, resulting in her suicide. All this was known between them. And it had only brought them closer. There were no festering lies, only forgiveness and compassion. That was the basis of their relationship.

Leah placed a skillfully prepared meal down on the table in front of him, careful not to hand him the plate (another intimacy forbidden during her impure days). It smelled divine, he thought: thyme and lemon chicken breast, wild rice, and sweet potatoes. There was even a dessert, Yaakov noticed, an apple oatmeal muffin. It had all been made from scratch from fresh ingredients. He rejoiced with every bite. How did she manage it all? Such a wife, such a treasure! When he finished, he carried his dishes and utensils into the kitchen, adding soap to the sponge and washing them off before placing them in the drainer. Then he walked into the children’s bedrooms.