Eventually, long after the remnants of roast chicken, brisket, and potatoes had congealed on their plates and been removed, but before the sugary chocolate cake and petit fours had been served, wedding guests got up to leave. The first to go were the elderly rabbis, who took their leave of the bridegroom as their wives said goodbye to Fruma Esther, and only then to the bride they did not know. Leah responded by gratefully taking their proffered hands into her own with real warmth, accepting on faith that their kind wishes for a happy life had been sincerely expressed.

Once the honored rabbis had gone, the lesser luminaries—teachers, community leaders, young scholars—followed, signaling across the mechitza to their wives, who reluctantly left the lively discussions at their friendly tables, ending the rare night out when they were served a fine meal in such delightful company, to accompany their husbands back to a house full of laundry and demanding youngsters. These women, mostly only a little older than the bride herself, fixed smiles on their faces as they studied the sweetness of the bride’s smile, the joy in her eyes, fighting valiantly against their galloping cynicism to envision a bright future for this clueless girl who had no idea what she had just gotten herself into.

They could not help but imagine with horror being in her place at such an age, forced to undergo all they had experienced without the twin buffers of youth and naivety that had cushioned their own crash into the harsh realities of married life. “Now she is in love. But the tension of making ends meet, the endless housework in that drab little apartment, caring for stepchildren, and then hopefully her own pregnancies and births…” Even the most solid foundation of real love grew soft and muddy under the steady, daily downpour of troubles. The more empathetic could not control themselves, leaning in and kissing her cheek, a kiss full of hope and pity. “You must come to us for Shabbos,” they whispered. “Any time at all, you must call me, if you need anything,” they added with real feeling born equally of true, womanly solidarity coupled with an avid curiosity to follow the progress of this strange story to its conclusion.

The last to go were the people Yaakov and Leah actually knew.

“I’m so happy for you, my dear friend,” Shoshana Glaser said, wrapping her arms around Leah, who hugged her back with love. Newly engaged to the love of her life after years of hiding her scandalous affair, she looked more like a Vogue model than a pediatrician, Leah thought in wonder, always surprised at her best friend’s slim loveliness, the warm sheen of her glowing olive skin and straight, dark waterfall of hair.