The following months were some of the hardest of my life.
My doctors monitored me constantly.
There were appointments where I cried before even walking through the hospital doors.
There were nights when Thomas and I stayed awake wondering whether we could emotionally survive another loss.
But our son kept growing.
And I kept fighting.
At thirty-seven weeks, the doctors decided it was time to deliver.
Labor progressed faster than expected.
A few hours after arriving at the hospital, I heard a baby cry.
A nurse placed him on my chest.
I stared at his tiny face.
“Hi, Liam,” I whispered.
Then I completely broke down.
Thomas thought I was crying because our son was finally here.
But I was thinking about the dream.
The dark hallway.
The crib.
Emily’s voice.
