In what world were his actions okay? How could he not see the situation as clearly as she did?

G

olda stepped on the gas.

The car flew down the street, her heart keeping beat with the sound of the old motor. Let’s go, she mentally urged the little car. You can do it. Please, please, go. She snuck a glance at the pale girl in the passenger seat. Estee’s eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.

Oh, Hashem, please let her and the baby be okay….

Thankfully, the hospital loomed ahead. Golda had never been happier for her bikur cholim protektziya. She whisked Estee through triage and pretty soon they were placed in a semi-private room, the nice one at the end of the hallway.

Golda collapsed onto a horribly stiff leather chair while Estee leaned against the pillows, chin set like she was waiting for bad news. Not on Golda’s watch. Nope, not today.

Although if Yonah didn’t show up soon, Estee might need a sedative.

Right on cue, there was a voice from outside the curtain around the bed.

“Estee? Est? Ma?”

Thank You, Hashem. “Yonah! We’re here. Come in.”

Golda stood up, and went to find another chair, lingering outside the room to allow them time to catch each other up. The hallway was empty; she pulled out her phone and sent a quick voice note to her mechuteneste. She was sure Estee’s panicked phone call on their way into the hospital had done nothing for Tamar Lefkowitz’s simchas Yom Tov.