The day my daughters were born should have been the happiest day of my life. Instead, it became the day everything broke. I was thirty-one, terrified, and exhausted after hours of labor. The delivery room was a blur of voices, machines, and sharp, urgent commands. I remember gripping the bed, crying out, hearing one baby cry and then nothing. A silence so heavy it felt like the world had paused. For illustrative purposes only “Where’s my other baby?” I asked, my voice barely there. No one answered right away. Doctors moved quickly, avoiding my eyes. A nurse touched my arm,...
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