Ida and the children, who weren’t at home, were pacing all around chairs and each other.  They kept their mamm in their sights, more worried about her than themselves.  But knowing their daed was going through this was tearing their hearts into a million pieces.  None of them were used to the overly sterile aroma that constantly wafted up their noses and made them woozy and lightheaded.  They were used to farm smells, cows, chickens, horses, hay, rich soil, manure.

     A man, dressed in a white coat, his hair black and slicked back, who couldn’t be more than forty-ish, with a baby face that would probably never age, approached them.

     “Mrs. Abrams.”

     Ida stepped towards the man,...

Please subscribe to keep reading.