Rina’s stomach was churning at full force. She took a deep breath, looked around the emptied room. She’d been inside this house hundreds of times but had never invaded the private sanctuary of her in-laws’ bedroom. Twin beds, between them a large night table. Separate beds were required by Orthodox law, but she and Yitzchak had pushed their beds together, each of them sticking their feet in the crack at bedtime, playing with each other’s toes. No such intimacy could be shared here. But despite the beds, there was something warm and loving in the room. Maybe it was the acres of family pictures that covered the bureau and the top of the chest of drawers. Pictures of her sisters-in-law, her nieces and nephews, her sons. Photos of her and Yitzchak before they’d been married, their wedding pictures, snapshots taken when her in-laws had visited them in Israel. Photographs that had showed Yitzchak as a robust young man. Not the skeleton that had died in her arms…

Frieda cried out to her and Rina was grateful for the distraction. Rina kissed her hand and smiled at the older woman. Frieda attempted a weak smile in return but failed.

“It’s all right,” Rina said.

Frieda shook her head no.

“Yes, it is,” Rina said. “Emes, it’s all right.”

Frieda sobbed harder. Rina’s voice had said it all. She looked at her and said, “You know.”

Rina felt her eyes moisten. “I know.”

“He knows, too,” Frieda said.

Rina nodded.

“His eyes…” Frieda said. “He hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t—”

“I never stopped thinking about him,” Frieda moaned. “Never. In my heart, I never stopped looking. Every time I saw someone his age, I wondered…I wondered…”

“I understand—”

“No,” Frieda cried out. “No, you couldn’t understand. Oh, such guilt, the pain…God is punishing me for my weakness. Rina, I was so young, so scared. My father was so frightening. I was weak—”

Rina hushed her.

Frieda was silent for a minute. When she finally spoke again, it was in a whisper. “Every time I gave birth to my babies, I thought of him. Of the baby I had and lost—No, of the baby I was forced to give up. I could never, ever not think of him. I wanted to keep him but my parents wouldn’t let me. Dear God, forgive me…”

She started sobbing again.

Rina said, “Peter…Akiva has a daughter. He understands how you must have felt—”

“He hates me,” Frieda said. “I saw it. I deserve it—”

Rina quieted her again.

“Your Akiva…” Frieda sobbed out. “My little baby boy. Oh, my God, after all these years…As much pain as if it happened yesterday. He wasn’t sick at all, was he, Rina? He didn’t want to see me.”

“He didn’t want to shock you.”

“When you came to New York with him…he knew I’d be here?”

“Of course not.”