“Hi, Tamar, it’s Golda. Thought I’d call with some updates. Estee’s admitted and resting in bed, we’re waiting for the doctor on call to come around. It’s pretty quiet, so could be any minute. I’m not sure which doctor is around now, but they’re all great here, so I know she’ll be in good hands. Will call with more info soon, all the best.”

She actually hated voice notes, she always sounded stiff and forced, like she was recording for an answering machine. Ah, answering machines. Those were the days. Along with phones that made phone calls and did nothing else. Simpler times….

She sent another message to Dovid with updates and asking him to call her if he knew which doctor was on call that night, a quick call to Gita to make sure she served everyone supper, and reminding her that there was a pan of fries for the kids warming in the oven, and then she figured it was safe to return to the room. She grabbed a chair from the hallway and dragged it inside with her.

Yonah was sitting so low in the leather chair, he was practically lying down. He looked dejected, one hand pressed to his forehead. Estee was now facing the wall, eyes closed.

Oh, this was pleasant. Golda smiled at nobody, settled into her stolen chair, and pulled out a Tehillim. Might as well make herself useful until the doctor arrived.

Estee couldn’t breathe. What if something was actually wrong with her baby? What if… no. She couldn’t go there.

And Yonah was defending himself! Instead of groveling on his hands and knees for abandoning her while she was doubled over in pain in his childhood bedroom, he was actually claiming he’d done nothing wrong. In what world were his actions okay? How could he not see the situation as clearly as she did?

She’d said she didn’t want him going out to play ball and he went anyway. Then she’d almost died when he was out. And the baby… maybe the baby… nooooo.

And then she’d had to go to his mother and ask for a ride to the hospital. Mortifying.

A chair scraped. She opened one eye. Her mother-in-law was standing up.

“I’ll go get some food from the bikur cholim room,” she whispered to Yonah. The bikur cholim room that her in-laws had opened in the first place and kept stocked with every sort of kosher treat…. Even in her situation, Estee could appreciate how special Yonah’s parents were.

She shuddered, though. She couldn’t think about food yet, she was still so weak and shaky, although thankfully, the vomiting and cramps had stopped.

Her mother-in-law returned with rugelach and cookies and some chips for Yonah, since he wouldn’t make mezonos out of the succah. She placed a tea on Estee’s side table.

Estee kept her eyes closed even though the lemony mint smelled wonderful.

Then the curtain opened again.

“Esther Rosen?”

She sat up, eyes wide open. The doctor was older, with warm eyes and a thick mustache.

“How are we feeling today?” he asked.

And suddenly she was struck with a spasm of fear. What if this doctor gave her the worst news possible? What would she do then? Yonah and her mother-in-law left the room and only returned once the tests were done, and Dr. Patel called them back in.

“Dehydration,” he said, nodding. “Drinking is vital during pregnancy, young lady. We’ll get you started on IV and you’ll be good as new in no time. We’ll just keep you a little longer for observation. And some nice, uninterrupted rest.”

He winked at the group.

Estee didn’t get the joke, but her mother-in-law laughed.

She whispered her thanks, closed her eyes as the nurse hooked her up, and then felt herself begin to drift off.

She spied Yonah’s face, next to his mother’s. He was white, his eyes unusually large. He looked… frightened.

She suddenly wanted to say something reassuring, maybe even smile, but it took too much effort to move her lips, and right now, she was too upset at him. He was acting meek and unhelpful, not to mention doubling down on his stupid basketball game. A few hours later, the curtains were flung open once more.

Estee opened her eyes groggily to find Yonah hovering, shock coloring his face, staring at—

“Mommy?”

Tamar Lefkowitz stood there, face set in fierce determination, fingers white.

“Estee, come, sweetheart. I’m taking you back to Lakewood.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1036)