Between breaths, she repeated the same words over and over.

“Please let my baby be okay. Please, just let my baby be okay.”

At seventeen minutes past three that afternoon, the baby was born. His cry filled the room, strong and alive, cutting clean through every fear she’d carried for nine months.

Abigail fell back against the pillow, tears running down her face as she fought to catch her breath. It was unlike anything she’d known — not only pain now, but relief and love and something real finally taking shape.

“Is he okay?” she kept asking, her voice shaking.

A nurse smiled as she wrapped the baby in a soft blanket. “He’s perfect, sweetheart. Absolutely perfect.”