Naomi's POV
They say you remember the moment your child is born in snapshots.
Not the whole picture.
Not a video.
Just pieces.
The flash of an overhead light.
The tremble of a gloved hand.
The sterile chill of a room that doesn’t feel ready for something so… sacred.
That’s how it started.
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They wheeled me into the operating room just before sunrise. I remember the pale yellow walls and the buzz of soft classical music playing somewhere near the ceiling.
My body was numb from the waist down. But everything else—my heart, my breath, my soul—was raw and alert.
Raymond was beside me, dressed in hospital scrubs, his face mostly hidden behind a mask. But his eyes… his eyes never left mine.
“You okay?” he whispered.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just nodded, blinking back tears
