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They claimed the complications had been severe and that seeing her would only make the grief harder. Looking back, there were probably questions I should have asked, but grief doesn't leave much room for doubt. I was barely holding myself together.
Eventually, a nurse placed my surviving daughter in my arms.
Emma.
She was beautiful. Tiny, warm, and absolutely perfect. I loved her instantly.
But even as I held her, part of my heart was breaking for the daughter I believed I had lost. Before I left the hospital, a nurse handed me a small plastic bracelet.
She told me it had belonged to my second daughter.
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I kept it.
For years, it became the only physical reminder that she had existed at all.
Three rooms down the hall, Olivia had welcomed a healthy baby girl named Lily. After everything she had gone through to become pregnant, the entire family celebrated.
