Alina

The soft beeping of monitors had become oddly comforting.

Each sound was a heartbeat — a promise that life still pulsed within these hospital walls.

Hope lay in the incubator beside me, her tiny chest rising and falling with perfect rhythm. Her skin was pinker now, her body stronger than when I first held her. Every day she was proving the world wrong — proving that miracles didn’t have to come wrapped in perfection; they could come small, fragile, and fierce.

I sat propped ...