Naomi's POV

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I had written speeches for years—crafted them for CEOs, political candidates, panels, and publicists. I’d stood behind podiums, lit by overheads and flanked by branded backdrops, delivering sentences timed to applause.

But today…

Today my stage was a hospital room.

My audience? A camera phone balanced on a stack of parenting books.

My outfit? A clean robe over a wrinkled nightgown.

My microphone? Raymond’s old lapel mic clipped to a ...