Time moved strangely in those last weeks — slow when I watched her walk, fast when I counted how close we were to meeting our daughter. Rebecca’s stomach had grown beautifully round, sitting high and firm, announcing to the world that she was almost ready.
Every morning became a new routine.
I’d wake up stiff, my right leg dragging as I tried to find my balance, and before I could even say good morning, she would already be watching me.
“Careful,” she’d whisper, her hand resting on her belly as she pushed herself upright.
“You okay today?”
I’d nod, even on days when I wasn’t.
Because somehow, seeing her carrying our baby with such strength gave my body a reason to fight harder. My steps became slightly steadier. My hand loosened more often. The seizures didn’t return. It was as if he
