Title taken from the Biblical verse:
"For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning."  Psalms 30:5

---

Laying Gabriel down in his crib, Akiva fondly gazed at the sleeping baby. The curly tufts of hair on his sweet head were in complete disarray, not even fixed after she’d put his pajamas on post bath time and his little fists were curled up under his chin, fingers twitching  with newfound deep sleep.  He was getting so big: five months old and Akiva couldn’t believe how things were changing. He was finally starting to sit up and sleep through the night.  He could roll over, he babbled and almost sounded like he was saying nonsense phrases.  When he was asleep, still and quiet, she could really take a breath and think about it. 

When he was awake he demanded her attention and Akiva could think of very little else.  It was a hard job to do alone, being in charge of feeding and changing and learning… plus she had her job at the ministry, which she was trying to do more, but most of the time it came home with her so she wasn’t inconveniencing her mother (not that she would ever say Akiva was). 

It would be so much easier if Dreogan was around, she thought sadly as she leaned down to brush one of the curls off of his forehead.  Her eyes wandered up to the bangle on her wrist and she felt a pang.  Dreogan had been with her for one of the hardest things she’d ever come across in her adult life, but now, raising her son, she just thought of how that paled in comparison to looking at her fatherless son and knowing that was so not what she wanted for him.

She recognized the improbability of Dreogan ever coming home, and even more than that of him being alive.  There was an argument in her head that they’d never actually had on repeat most nights: he didn’t want to be his father.  He didn’t want this for his son, but here Gabriel was, and here she was, and history certainly repeated itself.   

Stepping away from the crib, she could feel the familiar discomfort of impending tears, which automatically made it so that she had to move.  She didn’t want to wake up her son with crying. 

Her footsteps were light and she exited the room, gently shutting the door behind her. 

It was almost always at night, usually after putting her son to bed.  She’d see his hair, she’d look at the way his lips were shaped – Dreogan was so present in their son, and their pictures were above the crib.  With Hestia gone back to Israel, it wasn’t as though she had anyone to really share this experience with.  She was just alone with her son. 

Of course she had her parents and her friends, the people who were keeping her afloat, but it wasn’t the same.  There was no one to share this burden with really, and constant reminders of that were in the littlest things: his favorite mug in the cabinet, the empty side of the bed, the things he’d picked for Gabriel’s room, for the house: the peeping Tom, even.  Answering the door made her think of her husband. 

Wiping her nose with a tissue, Akiva sunk onto the side of the bed after turning on the nightstand lamp.  Bracing her hands against the mattress, she sighed and lowered her head.  The ponytail she was wearing tickled the back of her neck and she shivered. 

She took another deep breath and clenched her fingers around the edge of the mattress.  She felt like she cried for the same reasons all the time.  If only cursing things, if cursing everything would work, maybe she’d do that.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t a solution and their life was going to be the same either way.  It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t what she wanted for Gabriel.   The past was written in stone and she had to make choices for him now. 

It was just so hard to picture the future: Gabriel’s first words without his father, his first steps, first days of primary schooling… he’d be old enough to ask where his dad was, and Akiva wouldn’t really have an answer for him.  They didn’t know.  Closure didn’t exist.  She didn’t know if she wanted it: the possibilities were grim. 

Akiva had always imagined a house full of family.  She was an only child.  Lonely would be the wrong word to use for her childhood, but sometimes, it was fitting.  In the same way that Dreogan had never wanted to be his father, Akiva did not want her son to be alone.  What if he lost both of his parents?  Who would he have then? 

It was such a morbid thing to think about, but it was real, and it made her stomach hurt.  Combined with the throbbing of her head, the twist of her stomach was enough to make her push herself up and grasp onto the roots of her hair.  She paced around the room, eyes closed tight and trying to force herself into a better place, breathing deeper and trying to calm herself. 

Stopping in the middle of the floor, Akiva’s hands were still buried in her hair, but she slowly opened her eyes and let out a deep breath.  She looked at the nightstand and saw it: the book.

That strange little parcel had been another odd entry into her life.  She’d barely delved into it – reading in Yiddish was hard, especially when she was out of practice, but she’d started to go through it and if it wasn’t a hoax (another cruelty she’d endure), it appeared to be from her grandfather. 

So far, it seemed mundane: Berlin, economic depression, a grocery store: those were the normal things.  Some of it was strange, but Akiva assumed she was translating wrong.  Mentions of odd events, secret gatherings and crimes that seemed to have no cause were some of the things she was discovering.  It was also a time littered with the rise of the Nazi party and she definitely felt like that could explain some of it.  There was also the mysterious reference to “G-“ that never really explained itself.  At first she had thought it was a refence to God, but that didn’t quite pan out linguistically, she was taking pains to figure it out at this point, but she kept her eye out for every mention and jotted it down in the notebook. 

In need of an escape, a moment to focus on something else, Akiva slowly walked back toward the bed and picked up the book, and the notebook underneath it.  She was keeping notes on what she was translating, before she assumed her spot on the bed, curling her legs up under her.  After getting her notebook situated with the ballpoint pen lodged in the page, Akiva gingerly flipped open the delicate book (she didn’t want to tear or rip the pages), and sighed. 

Her eyes were tired from crying, but the strain of trying to read in a language she had been fluent in years ago (getting better again) was twice as exhausting.  It was a nice change though, and a distraction. 

Distant thoughts of the circumstances she was in were being replaced by the strangest description.  Flashes of light, staffs, screaming in Latin… Akiva had to read the passage over and over again.  The lights were blue, green, and red – Latin chanting?  It sounded like-  a duel?  That wasn’t possible though.  Shaking her head, maybe it was fireworks or something. 

Akiva pursed her lips and jotted down word for word translations of things, unsure of whether or not she was getting things right in the context of the language.

There was a lot more written anyway, perhaps it would illuminate what was being described in a way that made far more sense for the story that was being told.  It was sort of eerie, reading something that had been written by hand from a person she’d never met but there was so much family mythology around Samuel Katz.  Her grandmother had told her so many stories about him.  Some of that undoubtedly matched what she was reading, but these weird things – this little supposed firework display was something that didn’t.

She knew everyone had his or her secrets, but it seemed impossible that this would have escaped the knowledge of the family, or their hands.  Akiva had always imagined a marriage like her grandmother describe, of course, she supposed (in a bitter sort of way), she got exactly what she had always dreamed of. 

Akiva shook her head, taking another breath, turned her eyes back to the page.  She needed to get through at least a couple of more pages of this.  She tried to do a couple a night if she didn’t pass out first. 

As tired as her eyes felt, she didn’t really think she’d go to bed anytime soon.  She shifted on the pillows, reaching up to rub her neck as she looked at the page.  Her grip on the pages tightened as she skimmed over the passages and saw something.  Blinking, she knew it couldn’t be. 

That seemed… no.  Impossible.  She stared at the page without movement, her breath hitched in her throat.  She had to - flipping the page of the book, Akiva jotted down a note to the first person she thought of: 

Raizel – You should stop by whenever you have the time.  I have to show you something. 

-Kiv

Breathing heavily, Akiva looked back at the text, swinging her legs off the bed to go downstairs to send the note.  She even carried the book with her, still staring at the word, on the page like a beacon.  She knew what G- meant.  In an instance it all seemed to come together and fall apart at the same time.  Grindlewald.