Then Chayala spoke, quiet, but sure. “I know my parents are proud of me, but I feel like I’m letting them down in so many ways”

Chayala walked through the neighborhood she’d walked every Shabbos as a teenager, her head still preoccupied with the events of the past week. She turned down Etty’s block and walked up the stone steps she’d known nearly as well as her own. Mrs. Gutmacher opened the door and beckoned her inside.

“Good Shabbos, Chayala!” she said warmly. She turned toward the little den behind the kitchen. “Etty,” she called. “Chayala’s here for you!”

Chayala scooped up Etty’s chubby five-month-old, and settled in on her spot on the same couch she’d settled in on so many times before, feeling like nothing had changed, but also like everything had.

“So,” nudged Etty. “Don’t keep me in suspense! What’s going on with your big mystery? Have you cracked the case yet? Come oooooon! Are you selling your company to pursue a law career full-time?”

Chayala laughed. “If I sell Huis, I won’t do anything before I get you those new serving trays you have your eye on, don’t worry. Also, not happening anytime soon.”

Etty grinned. “You’re the best.”

“True!” Chayala bounced Chaim Zev on her lap, his hands grabbing hold of her hair for dear life. “Okay, so I basically decided I need to find people who can act as negative character witnesses for Mike, but besides my father I don’t know too many people who actually know him, right? But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that older people have a very limited grasp on what’s real on the Internet.” Etty laughed, and Chayala filled her in on what recon “Allison Smith” had collected. Etty’s eyes widened.

“No way. Are you saying that people really sent in videos of themselves? Just like that?”