It was the sheer animal relief of a mother who had carried her child through a night designed to end them both, and come out the other side into daylight with the child alive and shrieking on her body.

Every plan I had made, every copy I had sent, every cold clear calculation of the long dark hours — all of it had been in service of this one thing, this exact weight, this furious healthy noise.

I had not fought to win.

Winning was almost beside the point.

I had fought so that she would get to be born into a world that had a mother in it.

And she had.