It had never even been surviving the surgery.
The miracle was what came afterward.
The choice to keep loving.
The choice to remain open.
The choice to transform pain into compassion.
And as she disappeared down the quiet path beneath the stars, she carried no child in her arms.
Yet she carried countless lives in her heart.
And somehow, that was enough.
More than enough.
When I saw the two lines on the test, I cried because I was happy.
I thought it was a miracle.
My hands were shaking as I ran to show Diego.
He was in the kitchen drinking coffee, looking as calm as if nothing in the world could touch him.
“I’m pregnant,” I told him.
He did not smile.
He did not hug me.
He did not ask if I felt okay.
He simply set his cup on the table and stared at me like I had brought something filthy into our home.
