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| Serial |

Trust Fund: Chapter 17

“I knew she was taking the meds. I knew, but I couldn’t tell anyone. She told me not to”

 

T

he oil sizzled. She cracked three eggs and scrambled them lightly.

“Eggy!” Nosson Tzvi shouted, running to the enormous island and climbing onto the leather bar stool in one fluid motion.

Libby smiled at her nephew and looked around. “Where are Tamar and Batsheva?”

Nosson Tzvi smiled angelically back at her. “In the bathroom.”

Oh.

Oh! Libby spun around and jabbed the intercom. “Vanessa, I can’t leave the stove, can you get the girls out of the bathroom, please?”

Nosson Tzvi ran off to get in on the action and came skipping back to inform his aunt that “the girls are all wet and Vanessa is changing them.”

Great, just great. Her phone beeped. She shut off the eggs, dried her hands, and checked to see who was texting her at 8:05 a.m.

It was Deena, of course.

I hate babysitting. This is slave labor. Can you buy me my own phone because I’m watching these monsters?

That’s what the ignore button was created for.

Vanessa came in with two very cute little girls; the maid looked tired.

“Here, Mrs. Libby. They are ready for breakfast.”

“Eggy!” they shouted, and ran to join Nosson Tzvi.

Popular choice around here. Libby spooned eggs onto their plates, then sank onto a leather bench built into the dinette. It was plush and firm and very beautiful. The entire kitchen looked like it had been plucked straight from the pages of Architectural Digest and deposited onto the property.

Vanessa sat across from her. Neither spoke for a while.

Excerpted from Mishpacha Magazine. To view full version, SUBSCRIBE FOR FREE or LOG IN.

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