Then everything went black. The pain vanished, the noise faded, and I felt myself drifting away. Somehow, I fought back—maybe it was Ryan’s voice anchoring me, or sheer stubbornness to meet our baby.
Hours later, I woke to Ryan’s exhausted face hovering over me.
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His eyes were red from crying, his hair a mess, and he looked like he’d aged ten years overnight.
“She’s here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s perfect.”
The nurse brought our daughter over—Lily, seven pounds and two ounces of perfection.
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