Suddenly, a young nurse rushed in, her steps quick but controlled. She adjusted the equipment around my son, focused and calm. Other staff followed, moving with quiet precision. I stepped back, heart pounding, trusting their practiced hands. The room shifted from silent fear to purposeful action. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t fighting alone.
I reached through the incubator and touched his tiny hand. My daughter stirred softly nearby. Hope returned—not loud or dramatic, but firm. That day, I learned that even in the most fragile moments, strength appears—in skilled hands, steady hearts, and a mother’s unwavering love.
