“Don’t quit. Your little one still needs you.” Those words didn’t just soothe me – they steadied me. They became the reason I kept walking back into the NICU night after night, forcing myself to cling to hope even when the beeping machines drowned out my faith.

Those early months blurred together – endless medical briefings, nights without sleep, and whispered prayers layered over the hum of ventilators. My son’s healing came in tiny increments: a slightly stronger pulse, a few more stable breaths, a single day with no setbacks.
Time moved forward, and somehow life softened again.
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