He had recognized something.
Ethan and I had been married for four years, and almost from the start, we had dreamed of having a family. After months of negative pregnancy tests and repeated heartbreak, I finally saw two lines one morning.
Ethan cried when I showed him the test.
From that day forward, he seemed happier than I had ever seen him.
Every night, he rested his hand on my stomach and whispered, “You two mean everything to me.”
Most of my pregnancy passed without any major problems, but labor was another story.
After twenty-one grueling hours, alarms suddenly began beeping. Nurses hurried around my bed while Ethan was guided away.
“Please,” he begged. “Just make sure they’re both safe.”
Everything after that became a blur—bright lights, urgent voices, people rushing around me.
Then everything went black.
