Disclaimer: Not mine. They are Steven Spielberg's or somebody. But not mine.

A/N: English is not my first language, it's just a new challenge to me. So excuse any mistakes, and if you don't understand something, just e-mail or review asking and I promise to answer.

I love Munich. It's a hard, but great film.

SHE'S HOME

It's dark, and probably cold outside, but not here. Daphna's body still feels hot, exactly like when we were making love some time ago. I take a deep breath, fill my lungs with her smell, a sweet mix of warm flesh, fruits shampoo and baby food. It describes perfectly who she is, a woman, a wife and a mother. And lots of things I would never know how to explain.

Now she's sleeping right by me, lying still on her back, breathing regularly. She even seems to smile, she must be dreaming of something good. Lucky girl. If I managed to fall asleep, I could only have nightmares, flashbacks of acts I've done and I regret to have done. That's why I have enough just being here, in my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Daphna's breath. It's the closest thing to paradise I will ever know. Even after my death, I will find no paradise. There's no paradise. There's nothing similar to that. I only have this life to live, and I'm not living it the way I should, or at least the way I would like to live it. It seems easy to get what I want: Daphna, my daughter, maybe one or two more kids, this flat in Brooklyn, and the kitchen I saw in Paris. I'd like to be very, very far away from the last months, to forget everything that ever happened. But this is more difficult to get than a house and a kitchen and a pair of sons or daughters.

My wife moves slowly, half asleep and half awake, turns on her left side and whispers some words to me. I can't understand them, I don't even try to. Probably she wants me to sleep or to hold her, but I have no strenght to do it. I feel dirty, guilty. I'm a liar, and a killer. She doesn't know that her husband is a killer. She knows nothing about me, about my job, if you can call what I've been doing a job. She waits long months for my phone calls, she raises our daughter on her own. She doesn't deserve me, not only because of what I do, in addition because of what I think of myself, and what is now running inside my head. I'm afraid of going mad and hurt her in consequence, and it is likely to happen, I found out the night I destroyed my bedroom to make sure I was safe. Someday it can happen here, in this room, that I am frigthened to sleep on this bed. I'll maybe cut the matress looking for a bomb, and Daphna will be here, looking at me without understanding the reason or my actions. Or maybe we'll be together in the street, going for a walk with our little girl, and I'll believe suddenly that somebody is following us, and I'll frighten her and our daugther. I can imagine her eyes, her face. She will try to get into my shoes, but she can't. She simply can't. Fortunately, she has not seen what I've seen. She has not been waiting for a bomb to explode and kill a man, she has not shot a man to death after he had just gone shopping. And the worst of this is that all that work was senseless. We will never recover the lives of those young athletes, it's just vengeance. That Talion Law, you know? Eye by eye. But it's senseless, vengeance is senseless.

Night passes. Time goes by without letting me know. The dawn will probably break soon, and I wouldn't have been able to sleep for a single minute. I'm afraid of thinking that the rest of my life will be like that. Fear, guilt. Sleepless nights. The same thoughts again and again.

Suddenly I feel some fingers caressing my face, an arm which surrounds me, a female body which gets closer to me and holds me. I feel some lips kissing my neck and some eyelashes tickling just below my chin. It's Daphna. She sounds still asleep when she whispers:

"Try to sleep, sweetie. It's alright. Everything's alright".

And for a moment I think she's not wrong. Everything is alright in her arms. It's like being home.

She's home.

And you feel safe the most at home.

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