“Here, let me,” Mama snapped, taking my sister from me. Suddenly I felt as if I had done something wrong and caused the baby to cry. “Shh,” she soothed, a note of urgency in her voice. Across the chamber, Pan Rosenberg watched us with a grave expression. I remembered his somber mood the night my sister was born. A crying baby, especially times like now when we most needed to be silent, made it more likely that we would be discovered and brought danger to us all.

Wanting to help, I reached out to stroke the baby’s head to soothe her. Usually she loved my touch. This time, though, her face turned purple and she began to scream. “Don’t,” Mama snapped, yanking the baby away from me. I stepped back, stung by her rebuke. Still, I could tell that she was not angry with me, just tired and frustrated and scared. She sank down to the edge of the bed, still trying to calm the baby. My sister cried heedlessly, knowing no need but her own.

Mama and I were so busy trying to quiet the baby that we didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right next to us. I looked up. Bubbe was standing above us. She knelt down and took Mama’s hand.

“She can’t stay,” Bubbe said gravely. The three words cut through the chamber. “The baby has to go.”

“Go?” I stared at her in confusion, certain that the old woman, who had seemed more confused of late, had finally lost her mind. My sister was three days old. Where did she expect her to go?

Pan Rosenberg walked over and I expected him to contradict his mother, or at least soothe her. “You are risking all of our safety,” he said, agreeing with his mother. “This cannot continue.” I could not believe that the Rosenbergs, who had become our close allies and, I thought, friends, were saying such things. I looked for Saul, but he was nowhere to be found.

“There isn’t anywhere to go,” Mama protested, shaking off Bubbe’s hand. “You can’t possibly expect us to leave.”

“We’re not asking you to leave,” Pan Rosenberg said, and for a moment I hoped this was all a misunderstanding. “But a child in the sewer. Surely you didn’t think you would be able to keep her here.” Clearly, he and Bubbe had discussed this already. I stiffened. Did he mean for us to send her somewhere? There were stories when we were in the ghetto of Jewish families hiding their children away with Catholic Poles. Mama would never let my sister go, though, not for a moment. The baby’s wails rose, as if she herself was protesting.

“Something has to be done,” Bubbe insisted.

Just then, Saul appeared at the chamber door, filled water jug in hand. I ran to him. “Saul, you have to do something! Your family, they’re trying to make us leave.” For a second, I wondered if he had been part of their earlier conversations, too. But I could tell from his expression that he was genuinely dismayed.