But our son kept growing.
And I kept fighting.
At thirty-seven weeks, the doctors decided it was time to deliver.
Labor progressed faster than expected.
A few hours after arriving at the hospital, I heard a baby cry.
A nurse placed him on my chest.
I stared at his tiny face.
“Hi, Liam,” I whispered.
Then I completely broke down.
Thomas thought I was crying because our son was finally here.
But I was thinking about the dream.
The dark hallway.
The crib.
Emily’s voice.
“Mom, you have to find him.”
After Liam was born, my doctors were able to treat the mass on my kidney.
The treatment was successful.
Months later, during a follow-up appointment, my specialist reviewed my results and smiled.
“You were very fortunate.”
I nodded.
Then he added quietly,
“It’s possible your pregnancy saved your life.”
That night, I stood beside Liam’s crib and watched him sleep.
Thomas came up behind me.
“You know what’s strange?” he asked.
