The doctor was silent for a moment, then said:
“We need to monitor the baby. There are signs she may have inherited your condition.”
At that moment, the world stopped.
I had been ready to fight for my own life. But I had not been ready for the thought that my child might go through the same pain I had.
I looked at my tiny daughter. She was so helpless. So pure. And for the first time, I felt guilty.
“Maybe everyone was right… Maybe I was selfish.”
That thought hurt me more than all the medical warnings combined.
For days, I could not sleep peacefully. Every time the baby moved, my heart tightened with fear. I remembered my childhood: broken bones, hospitals, pain, strange looks from people.
I did not want my child to live the same life.
But one night, while I was crying beside her, Will came closer and said: