I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant with twin boys when one frightening afternoon changed everything.
My pregnancy had been mostly smooth until a sudden pain sent me to the hospital.
When I finally woke up, I was exhausted, confused, and surrounded by unfamiliar machines.
My husband, Mark, was sitting beside my bed holding my hand.
The moment he saw my eyes open, his expression crumpled.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
I tried to sit up.
“What happened?”
Mark looked down.
“There were complications with the twins.”
My heart started pounding.
“What complications?”
He squeezed my hand.
“One of the babies is here with us. The other one… there were decisions the doctors had to make while you were unconscious.”
My mind was still foggy from medication.
“Where is he?”
Mark hesitated.
“You need to focus on recovering right now.”
That answer should have bothered me.
But I was too weak and overwhelmed to question him properly.
