Adele took a deep sip of her wine. “I don’t say this lightly, but you need to leave Germany. I think of you as I think of our Sofie, as the granddaughter God forgot to give me—albeit a rather less aggravating version.”

“Thanks, Aunt Adele,” I said wryly. She winked to let me know she was joking, but quickly sobered, as did I. “But…where would the Nussbaums even go?”

Adele looked at Mayim, her gaze intense.

“Can you and your parents not simply go to Krakow with Moshe?”

“It is not simple, Miss Adele,” Mayim replied. “My passport says I’m Polish, but I have never lived anywhere but here. Besides, my father can’t just go to Poland. Even if he could secure a visa, he couldn’t handle the train ride with his back. Things in Berlin are uncomfortable, but I am fortunate that I have you and Jürgen and Sofie and the children.”

“And you,” Adele said, turning her attention to me. “Have you thought about what will happen if they insist that you ask Mayim to leave?”

“It is not illegal to have a Jewish best friend,” I said stiffly.

“Sofie.” She sighed impatiently. “The time may come when it is indeed illegal.”

“I hate that we’re even discussing this,” I whispered.

“Not discussing it would be worse,” Adele said abruptly. “We need to face the facts.” She turned to Mayim. “You know I am not wealthy, but between all of us, we could find the money for your father’s visa.”

“Truly, thank you,” Mayim said miserably. “But that’s really not the problem at all.”

“Please, Mayim,” Adele urged. “Please try to think of a way. It feels like the danger comes closer to this house every single sunrise. I can barely sleep at night worrying for you all.”

Later, Adele excused herself to retire, and after she’d closed the little gate in the fence between our courtyards, Mayim asked me, “Is she right?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. After a pause, I blurted, “Mayim, I’m so scared for you. And your parents. Germany doesn’t feel safe anymore.”

Mayim looked away from me, toward the fading red-gold sunlight that framed the apartment building behind us. I heard the sniffles she tried to hide, and I reached to squeeze her forearm. She turned back to me, her cheeks wet with tears.

“How much worse is this going to get before it gets better?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just don’t know.”

After a few months at school, Georg was proud to bring home his first satchel of readers to practice at home.

“Shall I read them with you?” I offered, as I finished dressing Laura after her bath. Georg gasped in horror.

“These are special home readers. Only for me and Mayim.”