She goes through the checklist, scanning each item carefully, making sure she’s not leaving anything out. Her hands move in rhythm, her mind in sync—brush teeth, check; floss, check; nails clean, check. Her stomach tightens as she remembers: the last time she was here, she was asking G‑d to bless her with a child. That was three and a half months ago. She was so hopeful, so blissfully naive, believing it would be easy.

And He did bless her.

But not everything turns out the way we hope.

At her first appointment—hmm, no heartbeat, just a sac. “Come back in a week,” they tell her. She leaves devastated.

She returns the next week. Still nothing.

The doctor starts explaining her options. She can’t absorb the words. Her heart is pounding. Her voice escapes in a whisper: “Where do I go again?”

She’s in a daze. Passover is coming. How will she get through it—this sorrow, this grief—during the busiest season of the year? She pushes the pain down as deep as she can.

The doctor says she can do everything at home. “It should be manageable. Some Advil. Some rest. You’ll be back to yourself in no time.”

But it’s not manageable. It’s hard. It’s painful. The blood comes faster than she can handle. She’s weak, exhausted, overwhelmed. She feels utterly alone.

G‑d—why did You do this to me?

She passes out on the floor—disoriented, scared. She fears she might bleed out if she closes her eyes.

She goes to the hospital. IVs, pricks, more blood.

She just wants it to be over. She’s scared, drained, in pain.

She spends the second half of Passover at home, alone, wishing to be surrounded by the familiarity of shul, family, community.

Sad. Heavy. Hollow.

A week goes by. Then another. She’s not recovering. Not physically. Not emotionally. She can’t find her way back to herself.

She’s angry. So angry. Why me? Why did G‑d give me this pain? For what?

Finally, she’s ready to go to the mikvah.

She walks slowly down the steps. She immerses once.

“Kosher.”

A sob escapes her lips. She feels G‑d’s hug.

She whispers the blessing, then immerses a second time.

“Kosher.”

She feels a tightness in her chest—grief and joy, tangled together. Her heart pours out in prayer:

Please G‑d stay with me. Heal me. Make me whole again. Help me through this challenge You’ve given me. Show me joy. Show me nachas again.

She emerges from the water, tears streaming down her face. For the first time in a long time, she feels something she thought she had lost—

Hope.