After ten years of miscarriages, we finally had our miracle baby girl — but when the nurse handed her to my husband, he went completely pale, stared at the birthmark on her shoulder, and whispered, “No…
that’s impossible.” Ten years. Six miscarriages. Every single one took something from us we never fully got back.
When I found out I was pregnant again, Desmond and I quietly agreed, without ever saying it out loud, that this would be our last attempt.
The pregnancy was nine months of constant anxiety. We didn’t even set up the nursery until the final weeks, too afraid to hope too openly.
