Far too many years had gone by since the last time Ronit had seen the one person she had loved the most. Since then, she had had many encounters but nobody could ever compare and nothing was usually ever serious. Although this was the case, she was happy and most importantly; she was free from Hendon.
Living in New York had been surreal when she first arrived; so full of potential and self-worth. It had been over 14 years since she first stepped off that plane and inhaled the crisp, autumn air of New York. It smelt different to the musk of London.
Her favourite part about living far from home was that nobody knew her here. She wasn't referred to as Ronit Krushka; the Rav's disobedient daughter, she was simply known as Ronnie; an aspiring portrait and travel photographer. She had a new life, one which had almost made her previous life one of a distant memory. Almost.
That was up until one bitter morning as she was rushing through the hustle and bustle of New York's 7am rush hour. During an attempt to squeeze past a group of arrogant business men, she tripped over the leg of a news stand and held onto the frame to steady herself. As she began to apologise, her eyes locked on the frail and decrepit-looking man on the front page below the bold headline which read "The Jewish Community left in chaos with Rav Krushka's sudden passing."
Time froze. It couldn't be, could it? Her estranged father was dead? This couldn't be. Without thinking, she grabbed the newspaper, ignoring the colourful language she received from the guy who worked the news stand and ran back to her apartment. As soon as she walked through the door, she went searching for her phone book which she kept in case of emergencies. Finally she found the page she was looking for. Anxiously, she dialed the number which hoped was still valid. After a few short rings, somebody picked up.
"Dovid, is that you? It's me.. Ronit."