The hospital room was quiet in that delicate way that follows a long, meaningful moment. Soft lights glowed above the bed, machines hummed steadily, and the air carried the clean scent of a place designed for new beginnings. I lay propped against pillows, tired but peaceful, watching my four-year-old daughter, Lina, sit carefully at my side. Dressed in her bright red suspenders, she held her newborn sister with complete focus, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them. Her small hands were steady, her movements slow and deliberate. She gently rocked the baby, making soft, comforting sounds. In that moment, all the worries I’d carried through the pregnancy—about jealousy, confusion, or big emotioContinue reading…
