I was 26 years old and expecting twin girls.
My husband Daniel and I had spent months preparing for them. Every spare room in our house seemed to contain baby clothes, diapers, or half-assembled furniture.
Advertisement
Olivia was expecting her first child after years of trying. She had wanted to be a mother for as long as I could remember, and after several heartbreaking setbacks, everyone in the family was rooting for her.
That night should have been one of the happiest nights of our lives.
Instead, it became the dividing line between everything that came before and everything that came after.
My labor started normally, but shortly after midnight, the atmosphere in the room changed.
Nurses began moving faster.
Advertisement
Monitors started beeping. A doctor appeared and explained that they needed to perform an emergency C-section immediately. I remember the bright surgical lights overhead and Daniel squeezing my hand so tightly it hurt.
