Job's Wife
The air was cold, logically, as it was the middle of winter. But this cold was different. It was like the chill of a morgue. Her son, her beloved son, had died ten days ago, and the cold together with his absence penetrated her bones, making her shiver. Her husband kept silent. He got up every morning, made coffee, and sat down to read the newspaper. Sometimes she would see him with his eyes closed, presumably in prayer. He seemed impenetrable. Did he even have feelings? Sorrow had built a wall between them, and they did not know how to tear it down or climb over it to reach each other. She felt the weight of grief crushing her, suffocating her. For her, tears flowed without warning, as they were doing at this very moment. His eyes remained dry. What did he really feel? She broke the silence. “Why do you insist on pretending you are fine with it? I don’t believe that for a second!” “God’s timing and plans are perfect, Rachel. We had already discussed this.” “Reall...