Where the Desert Meets the Sea

by Werner Sonne

Next to it, David spotted a smaller picture frame with a group photo from the hospital, with himself in it, laughing,

That's weird to have a snapshot in a frame. In 1937. At least I think it is.

As he left, she had to exercise all her restraint not to run after him.

This is where I started kinda being done with this book.

“It’s me, Judith Wertheimer. I’m AB,” Judith said, and started to roll up the left sleeve of her shirt.

This could have been a more dramatic moment. More closure here and wrap up the story. But it didn't.