The hospital room was calm in that fragile, suspended way that only exists after a birth. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, machines hummed softly, and exhaustion weighed on my body as I rested against the pillows. But my attention was fixed on the edge of the bed, where my four-year-old daughter, Lina, sat cross-legged in her bright red suspenders, carefully holding her newborn sister. Her small hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the seriousness of the moment. She rocked gently, whispering soft sounds meant to soothe, and for the first time since the pregnancy began, I felt...
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