Camden, 1926

This wasn't supposed to happen, no, not this, never this, but here it was, you, pregnant with Alfie Solomons baby, that part you'd planned, though the babies fate seemed rather dower, her bones were weak, not forming properly, breaking inside your belly.

"you'll choose a day, my darlin'," Alfie murmured, knowing his voice was the only thing to permeate your panic.

"You'll choose a day and the doctor'll give you something to set things in motion, and you'll give birth to our beautiful little princess, and we'll have the zevet habat right then and there, and we'll name 'er and love her and hold her," Alfie knelt in front of you as you sat on the edge of your bed.

"And we'll get to memorise every little detail of her perfect face won't we? And we'll pray for her and sing to her, my darlin'. Memorise every tiny thing about her, we'll hold her until God takes her yeah?"