Quickly, Asher took it from the pillow that Joseph presented. He was eager to conclude the ceremony. He craved a cold glass of water, perhaps a chilled glass of wine. He needed something to alleviate the sweat, the strain, and the sensation in his lungs that was slowly invading his throat.

  It was a straightforward golden band, devoid of diamonds. Ruth had cited tradition, but it was one of the few areas where Asher had resisted.

  If they were marrying, Asher wanted the entire world to recognize it! Ruth had proposed a compromise: this modest gold band for the wedding day and a ring more in line with Asher's vision later, chosen just by the two of them.

  Ruth extended her hand, and Asher, his palms damp and trembling, slid the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit.

  The constriction he felt in his throat seemed to be descending into his chest. He cleared his throat once more.

  Ruth repeated in a whisper, "Are you okay?"

  “Ruth,” her father reprimanded sharply.

  The rabbi appeared concerned but had likely witnessed more daunting scenarios throughout his career. It wasn't unheard of for weddings to go awry. Asher assumed the rabbi was just relieved that no one had chosen to flee halfway through the proceedings.

  Dizziness overwhelmed him, making him stagger.

  Joseph steadied him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

  Asher gestured dismissively. “Continue, please.”

  Heeding Asher's request, the rabbi hastened the ceremony to its conclusion, possibly motivated by Asher’s pallid, sweat-glistened complexion. A cloth bag containing a glass was set between them.

  “Marriage encompasses both joy and sorrow,” the rabbi declared in a clear, resonant voice. “By shattering this glass, you symbolize your dedication to supporting each other, regardless of circumstances.”

  They joined hands, but before they could step on the glass to finalize the ceremony, a stronger wave of dizziness overcame Asher. He lost his balance and brushed against one of the chuppah's corners.

  White rose petals scattered, cascading to the floor. Asher clutched at his constricting throat, gasping for air. Panic consumed him, blurring his thoughts.

  “Asher,” Ruth murmured, advancing a step. However, Ahmed quickly gripped her arm, yanking her back as if fearing Asher's sudden affliction might spread. “What’s happening?”

  Asher attempted to articulate his distress, to convey the suffocating sensation and the palpable pounding of his heart. He endeavored to muster a plea for assistance or to beckon someone to call for help. Anything. Everything.

  Yet, words eluded him.

  A foul blend of bitterness and metallic tang invaded his taste buds. It was vaguely reminiscent. He recognized the taste, but only in a distant, detached manner. His mind seemed to malfunction, causing a disconnection from his physical sensations.

  His surroundings grew intensely vibrant, as if the world around him had suddenly burst into exaggerated hues.

  A searing pain jolted through his left arm, radiating into his chest. The rabbi's voice pierced the air, “Someone, get an ambulance!”

  But his plea came too late.

  Asher’s strength ebbed away, and he collapsed. As his head made contact with the polished hardwood floor, his soul abandoned him.

  6

  Till Death...

  “No!” Ruth cried out, oblivious to the pristine white of her gown. She flung herself beside Asher, her hands cradling his face. A cigarette butt, fallen from his pocket when he collapsed, lay on the floor beside him. Without full knowledge of the situation, Ruth instinctively blamed that small, inconspicuous item. "Filthy habit!"

  Deep in her heart, she felt a pang of vindication. She had warned him ever since their paths first crossed: smoking would be his undoing.

  In the early days of their relationship, Asher's smoking was incessant—consuming an entire pack daily, sometimes even more. Ruth, deeply concerned for his well-being, often fretted over his health. While he rarely coughed, when he did, it rattled her soul. She would lie awake, pondering what that cough would transform into a decade or two later.

  So she had exacted a promise from him: quit smoking before their marriage. Asher had vowed earnestly, and Ruth, trusting him, believed. Yet here lay the evidence of his deceit, proving he hadn't truly given up the habit but had merely concealed it from her.

  Now, on the very day they vowed eternal love, he lay lifeless before her.

  Clearly that cigarette's fault.

  The sight was surreal—a heart-wrenching tableau in slow motion. Overwhelmed, Ruth clutched the front of his shirt, burying her face against him.

  “Asher!” she lamented, her anguish making her voice barely recognizable. “Asher, you can't do this to me! Wake up. We're just beginning, Asher. Darling, sweetheart, our journey just started. You can't—you can't abandon me this way.”

  Yet he remained unresponsive. Forever silent. A grim realization dawned on Ruth—his pallid skin, the vacant stare in his eyes, the stillness of his chest. But she wasn't ready to accept the truth, not when they had just exchanged sacred vows and now—

  The atmosphere palpably shifted. Chaos ensued as attendees jumped to their feet, chairs scraping loudly and heels clicking against the aged hardwood. Cries of alarm and offers of assistance filled the air.

  The rabbi, maintaining his composure, commanded, “Everyone, please exit the premises immediately. Head to the front.” His voice resonated with firm clarity, “Let’s move, folks. We need room here, and you'll be most helpful outside.”

  In deference to his authority—and given the shocking turn of events—the crowd heeded his words. Who could defy a holy man in his own sanctuary, especially when faced with the devastating sight of a fallen groom and a heartbroken bride?

  Ruth realized the scene must have been hauntingly unforgettable, but she couldn’t dwell on that. Desperate and devastated, she clung even tighter to Asher, her fingers tangled in his shirt fabric.

  “Please wake up,” Ruth pleaded, her voice breaking. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. “Please! Asher, you're the only one for me. You're everything I've ever wanted. We've just married; you can't leave me like this. Wake up, please!”

  Of course, Asher didn't stir. His chest lay still, devoid of breath. Ruth's gaze darted upward, and for an instant, she noticed a dark shadow in the distant corner of the room. As Joseph crossed her line of sight, hurrying toward the front door, the shadow disappeared.

  The whirlwind of emotions left no room for Ruth to process that fleeting vision; her entire focus remained on the immediate crisis.

  “Abba!” Ruth cried out. “Please do something! Someone has to help him!”

  Ahmed enveloped his distraught daughter, drawing her away from Asher's lifeless form. “Give him space, Ruth. Make room!”

  His embrace, which had always been a source of solace for Ruth, felt different this time. For once, his comforting hold made her yearn to break free. Her thoughts were consumed by Asher.

  Cousin Tilly sprang into action. As a nursing student, she seemed to know instinctively what to do. The light blue of her dress brushed the ground as she kneeled beside Asher. Checking for a pulse, her fingers pressed against the side of his neck.

  “No pulse,” she announced, panic edging her voice. She hastily unbuttoned Asher's shirt, sending two gold buttons scattering across the hardwood floor.

  Ruth, overwhelmed with emotion, collapsed beside them. “He has to be okay!” She clutched Ahmed's arm with such force that her knuckles whitened. “He's going to be fine, right, Abba? Tell me he'll be alright!”

  Ahmed, holding her firmly by the shoulders, tried to console her while keeping her out of Tilly's way. Knowing he couldn't deceive his daughters, especially not now, he chose his words carefully. “Calm down, Ruth. Let Tilly do her job. The doctors will be here soon. They'll help.”

  Tilly, resolute, positioned her hands over Asher's chest, preparing to administer CPR. While others rushed out of the synagogue, the rabbi began to pray. In the distance, the distinct wail of an ambulance siren grew steadily closer.

  Tears stung her eyes. Ruth emitted a sound akin to a deflating balloon, the breath being forcefully expelled from her lungs. She briefly buried her face in the crook of her father's arm, but she couldn't stand being away from Asher's sight for even that brief moment.

  She turned back to him, praying with every fiber of her being that he would awaken.

  He remained still.

  “No, no,” she murmured, unable to articulate anything else. Her thoughts felt like a whirlwind. They seemed to spill beyond her mind, cascading across the walls of the room, enveloping everything. This wasn't supposed to be the outcome. Today was meant to mark the beginning of their journey together, the embodiment of her belief in happy endings.

  The sight of her love, lifeless on the floor, shattered that dream.

  Tilly's voice, desperate and strained, broke through Ruth's thoughts. “I can't find a heartbeat!”

  She continued her relentless CPR, possibly motivated by Ruth's intense gaze. Tilly's exertion was evident—sweat dripped from her brow onto Asher's still chest. She administered chest compressions, paused to give rescue breaths, then resumed her efforts.

  But Asher remained motionless.

  “The ambulance is here!” Joseph announced from the doorway, holding it open as paramedics rushed in.

  “We’ll handle this now,” one of them asserted, signaling Tilly to step back.

  She nodded gratefully, her eyes following as they prepared Asher for transport.

  “Where are you taking him?” Ruth's voice trembled with urgency.

  “Joseph, accompany them. We'll follow,” Ahmed directed.

  Ruth, panic evident in her eyes, countered, “Abba, I need to be with him!”

  “We'll drive there,” Ahmed reassured. “That way, your sister and I can be there too.” Cupping her face with both hands, he solemnly vowed, “You won't go through this alone.”

  “Through this,” Ruth echoed, her voice quivering.

  To her, 'this' was a horrifying mistake, a mere blip. He had to recover. Even as those thoughts raced through her mind, the paramedics loaded Asher into the ambulance. They were on their way to get him the help he desperately needed.

  “Fetch your sister,” Ahmed instructed. “I'll find out where they're taking him.”

  He made his way quickly toward the EMTs. A heavy weight settled in Ruth's stomach. She turned to see Tovah, leaning against the far corner of the room, her hands covering her face. A pang of sympathy shot through Ruth, but it was faint amidst her own distress.

  “Tovah!” Ruth called out, rushing to her side. Amid her own panic, it was challenging to acknowledge her sister's distress. “We need to leave, Tovah. They're taking Asher to get medical attention.”

  “He asked me not to tell about the smoking,” Tovah sobbed as Ruth approached, “and I kept his secret.”

  A flurry of emotions--anger, sorrow, love--coursed through Ruth. She knelt in front of her sister, grasping Tovah's wrist. Guiding Tovah’s hand, she drew circles on its back with her fingertip.

  “Look at me,” Ruth implored. “We have to move quickly, Tovah. We need you with us, okay?”

  “Did I cause this?” Tovah's face was flushed, eyes brimming with tears.

  “No,” Ruth declared with conviction. “And Asher isn't gone. Let's go, Tovah. Our father is waiting. The doctors will help him. He's going to be okay.”

  With determination, Ruth took hold of her sister, leading her toward the exit. The glaring sunlight outside was in stark contrast to the dim interiors of the synagogue. Ruth squinted, trying to adjust.

  He will be, she assured herself, echoing the reassurance she’d given Tovah. Asher will pull through. That's all I can focus on right now. Optimism is crucial. If I remain hopeful, everything will turn out fine.

  It might have been a naive thought, but it was a belief Ruth had clung to throughout her life.

  Ahmed ushered both his daughters into the sleek car intended as Ruth's wedding present. The drive to the hospital was silent, filled with palpable tension. It felt like Ruth was caught between hope and despair; on one hand, she was confident Asher would recover, and on the other, it seemed he was already slipping away.

  Upon arriving at the hospital, Ruth was the first inside. In her distressed state, she struggled to get information. It wasn't until her father arrived, with Tovah trailing behind him, casting her gaze downward, that they were directed to Asher’s location.

  Ruth should have been offering comfort to Tovah, but her own emotions held her captive. It was as if every bit of her strength was spent trying to maintain her composure, feeling as if a part of her had irrevocably fractured.

  She felt like a fragile figurine, wrapped in paper. The paper—her skin—held everything together, but if disturbed, she would scatter into pieces.

  “Abba,” Tovah whispered.

  “Not now, Tovah,” Ahmed replied, searching intently. “I’m looking for the right place.”

  They eventually settled in a waiting room on the fourth floor. Ahmed approached the nurses for information, only to find out Asher was in surgery—surgery!—and they weren’t sharing more details. They were instructed to sit and wait for a doctor to provide an update.

  The room was sterile, with white walls and a matching floor. Chairs, stark and unforgiving, lined the walls. While Ahmed and Tovah took seats, Ruth felt an internal restlessness that kept her on her feet.

  She paced relentlessly. After twenty minutes, her composure began to crumble.

  “Please sit,” Ahmed urged. “You’ll make yourself ill, Ruth.”

  “I already feel ill,” she countered, hand over her heart. “We were supposed to be getting married, Abba.”

  “I’m aware,” Ahmed responded, his voice reflecting memories of his late wife and possibly of Ruth’s mother, the one who left rather than passed.

  “Don’t do that,” Ruth admonished.

  “Do what?” Ahmed inquired.

  “Say it in that tone! Asher will be okay,” she insisted. “We'll complete the ceremony and head home.”

  “Ruth,” Ahmed began.

  Interrupting, Ruth asserted, “You never liked him! You resented that he wasn’t a devout Jewish man.”

  It was the first time she had vocalized such sentiments, and her words had a biting edge, sharp enough to charge the atmosphere.

  Yet, Ahmed’s demeanor remained unperturbed. He knew his daughter's temperament and loved her unconditionally. Moreover, having lost two wives--one to divorce and the other to death--he understood the raw emotions that arise from grief and pain.

  Although Ruth vaguely recognized these truths, she couldn't fully process them at the moment.

  “I was concerned for your well-being,” Ahmed clarified. “You often find yourself on perilous paths.” He rose and gently touched the spot on her arm, hidden beneath her wedding gown sleeve, where her bird tattoo resided. “Like this one. My concern was born out of love.”

  Ruth recoiled as if his touch seared her. “I got that because you stifled me! Birds symbolize freedom, Abba. They're unbounded. They have the liberty to go anywhere, be anything! That's what I desired for myself.”

  Ahmed questioned, “Did you only want this wedding as an escape? To fly away?”

  “I wasn’t going to leave you,” Ruth said, her lip trembling. Her skin felt hot, and she struggled to steady her voice. “I just wanted... I just wanted him. I was in love with him.”

  Tovah's gentle voice interrupted their intense conversation. “The doctor is here.”

  The doctor was tall with blond hair swept to one side. He held a clipboard, which he promptly set down at the nurse’s station as he approached Ruth and her family.

  “Hello,” he greeted, extending his hand. Ahmed shook it first, followed by Ruth. Tovah remained seated, appearing diminished in her chair. “You must be the Abadi family,” he said, speaking Hebrew with a pronounced Russian accent.

  “Levi,” Ruth corrected tersely. “The ceremony was complete. I’m Ruth Levi. Is my husband alright?”

  The edges of Ahmed’s mouth tightened, but he remained silent. He was the type to grow silent when angered, upset, or frightened.

  Ruth felt a chill from the doctor's expression.

  “Mrs. Levi,” the doctor began, “I regret that we’re meeting under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  “Unfortunate,” Ruth echoed, then more urgently, “Is my husband okay?”

  “We did everything possible, but it was to no avail. He flat-lined twice on the way here, and we couldn’t revive him.”

  Ruth let out a raw, gut-wrenching scream. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed, the white fabric of her wedding dress billowing around her. Tovah sprang from her chair, pressing herself against Ruth's back.

  “What happened? He was fine! We were in the middle of our wedding!”

  The doctor's gaze shifted to Ruth, her love for the groom apparent. “He seems to have been in the early stages of lung cancer. We suspect the disease triggered a severe stress response, leading to cardiac arrest.”

  “Lung cancer,” Ahmed said with evident revulsion. “Smoking. Filthy—” He paused, absorbing the weight of the revelation. “So, he's dead?”

  Ruth let out another heart-wrenching sound.

  “Yes,” the doctor confirmed, “Would you like to see him?”

  In her grief, Ruth could only produce an inarticulate noise. Seeking clarity, Ahmed turned to his daughter, asking, “Ruth?”

  But she was inconsolable, her sobs causing her body to quake. With burning eyes and a constricted throat, she longed to retreat into a hidden crevice, wishing to be as lifeless as her Asher now was.

  Her Asher. Her beloved.

  She had cherished him for such a fleeting moment, and already, he was no more. Her love, lost forever.

  All those old fears about never finding love surged back. She worried she'd end up like her father, alone, with no companion for the late nights. She grappled with the belief, nurtured by her mother's cruel words, that she was a mere beast of burden, devoid of value. The sickening realization dawned that only two men had ever shown interest in her, and only one was desired.