Our son was born on a quiet morning, after hours of labor that felt both endless and fleeting at the same time. When I held him for the first time, everything else faded away. He was perfect—small, warm, breathing softly against me.
For a brief moment, the fear disappeared.
Maybe it wouldn’t matter, I thought. Maybe love would be enough.
My husband stood beside me, tears in his eyes as he looked at our child.
“He’s beautiful,” he said softly.
I studied his face—too carefully. Looking for any sign of doubt, suspicion, anything at all.
But there was nothing.
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