Back home, Yael was still sound asleep. I quietly approached his bed, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.
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No matter what, I would ensure that Yael and I lived a good life together. That much I never doubted.
I took Yael and moved to a new city, leaving all the unpleasant memories behind.
A new city. A new beginning.
In this unfamiliar place, Yael and I started over.
Yael adapted quickly to his new school. His homeroom teacher was kind and patient, always
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Chapter 11
willing to listen to his thoughts about his new surroundings.
Yael made a few good friends, and every day after school, they would play together in the park, their laughter ringing through the air.
I often watched him from the window, my heart brimming with relief and pride. Yael grew braver and more confident, gradually stepping out from the shadows of the past.
When the school held a speech competition, he didn’t hesitate to sign up. Standing on the stage, his voice was steady and clear, earning resounding applause. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride for him.
Our days became simple but fulfilling.
On weekends, I’d take him to nearby museums or libraries, letting him explore the world of knowledge. Every time he excitedly shared his discoveries with me, I could see the spark of joy in his eyes.
At night, Yael would‘ cuddle close to me, listening as I told him warm and happy stories. He often asked, “Mommy, will we always be this happy?”
Gently stroking his hair, I smiled and replied, “Of course. As long as we’re together, every day will be a happy one.”
Another day dawned. The sunlight poured through the windows, bathing the floor in warmth and light.
