Marysville, California

July 15, 1944

Dear Antonio,

I’m still not feeling well. Everything smells bad, and my stomach is suffering for it. One minute I’m so hungry I can eat everything on the table, and then the next minute, I recoil at the idea of food. I have also been oversleeping. I was late to Mrs. Lawley’s three times this week because my body feels so heavy it’s like I’ve been weighed down by bricks. Even my father, who cares for no one but himself, has shown concern.

I believe I am pregnant, my love. Three months pregnant. No, I haven’t seen a doctor yet, and I can’t, not until I have a plan. But I have all the signs. And I can’t imagine what else could make my body feel this way, like it is not my own. It’s like I’m asleep and awake all at once.

I have told Joy. I had to tell someone. Joy’s sister, who has had two babies, says that I will be showing in about two months, that I won’t be able to hide it even if I tried.

I write this letter through tears because I’m not sure what I should do. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be happy or upset. I’m not sure if I should scream with fear or with joy. This baby is half you and half me. It’s as if, finally, the world is acknowledging that we do exist, that you aren’t a figment of my imagination. That our love means something.

Joy is worried. She has brought up many scenarios where I have imagined the worst. No one will want us. Marysville is against this—us, this baby. Not to mention the law.

Please don’t be angry with me, or regret what we did. I can’t bear it if you had any doubts or thought that you and I and this baby were mistakes. Joy thinks I am naive, and maybe I am, but what I know is this: I love you, and I love this baby despite how scared I am. I’m going to sit here, and I’m going to make a plan, and I’m going to write you and tell you about it, all right?

Please take care of yourself. Please keep yourself safe. At every sunset, I will pray to the heavens above for the end of this war and for you to come back to me.

I love you,

Leora