“But… you can’t deny, Dini, that you’ve become, um, very into your volunteers”

Dini browsed the aisles of Fox Home, fingering a set of napkin rings, a large scented candle, and some decorative dishtowels. Somehow, none of them said, “I’m sorry for breaking your trust and leaking the news about your husband’s fatal disease.”

Dini’s eyebrows creased as she contemplated a poufy throw pillow. Sending you a hug? She made a face; Bracha would hate such a corny line.

She sighed. Maybe she was in the wrong store.  Maybe she didn’t know Bracha well enough to know what apology gift would make her melt.

Or maybe she was wondering why she was apologizing for something she didn’t do.

Dini squeezed a corner of the pillow. Sarale should be the one begging for forgiveness, not her.  But Sarale hadn’t seemed to fully grasp the implications of what she’d done. When Dini, irked by the girl’s defensive insistence that she was just acting for the good of Chesed Tzirel, had described Bracha’s wrath, Sarale had finally shown remorse…toward Dini.

“She yelled at you? Like, out in public? No! How humiliating! It was totally not your fault! Did you tell her?”

Dini had a sneaking suspicion that when she got back home, she’d find her own apology gift sitting on her doorstep. Which would only go to show that Sarale had completely missed the point.