And what if… what if I were to fall apart like her? She doesn’t dare ask. You wouldn’t leave even then? You wouldn’t walk away from the rubble and start a new life?
“I hope he’ll be nice,” I said to Ima, swiping my finger along the edge of the mixing bowl while her back was turned.
“Who?” she asked, carefully pulling two shallow trays of cake out of the oven, one dark and one light. She works in the evening, after the little ones are in bed.
“The boy who’ll want to marry me.”
“Oy, Tovi!” Ima laid the cakes down on the counter and gave me a hug. “Of course he’ll be nice. We’d never agree to a shidduch for you with anyone who’s not nice.”
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