Jessica Hecht

There is no safety here for the children.

I nodded.

Children come first.

They threw garbage at Rachel on the street with the baby in the carriage.

My older boy was teased and tormented on the metro.

There was a bomb threat at the school.

One of his teachers was stabbed as he was walking home.

His eyes were so sad.

The world was a cracked plate.

At any moment, it might shatter completely.

The baby stirred against my chest.

The rabbi put his open palm on her head, almost as if he were giving her a blessing.

Hope is a thing with feathers, the rabbi said.

Dickinson again.

And then we kissed for the second and last time.

And before I had a chance to beg or thank him or even punch him in the nose, he walked away in the direction of Place des Vosges toward his home and his apartment.

I assumed, but I didn't even know where that masked man lived.

The baby and I crossed over to our building.

I entered the door code, but I must have forgotten the numerical sequence, so I tried again, and then again, scrambling the numbers up.

For a minute, it seemed, while I fumbled, I thought, now that I am nobler, almost a righteous woman, what is next for us?