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I like to say my son’s birth was the happiest day of my life, but the truth is more complicated than that.
The night he was born, everything spun out of control. What should have been a joyful arrival turned into a frightening blur of bright lights, urgent voices, and complications I barely understood. I came closer to the edge than I ever had before, and for a while, I wasn’t sure which way things would go.
My family lived hours away.
My husband was overseas for work and couldn’t get back in time.
The room was full of machines and monitors, but painfully empty of familiar faces.
Every sound in the hallway made me jump. Every silence felt heavy. My baby had been taken to the NICU, and while I understood it was necessary, all my heart heard was: He’s not here with you.
Yet, as the building fell quiet each night and the bright lights dimmed in the hallways, something gentle and steady walked into my world.
A soft knock.
The door opening just a little.
And then a nurse would step inside.
She never rushed. Her footsteps were light, her expression kind, her sm
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