My parents kicked me out one day after my C-section—with my newborn in my arms. Then my husband pulled up, looked at my face, and made one phone call that changed everything.

Paige.

A nurse lifted her over the drape for one impossible second, and Wendy saw a tiny pink-red face scrunched with outrage, a damp swirl of dark hair, a fist already opening. Mitchell made a sound Wendy had never heard from him before, something between a laugh and a sob. When the nurse finally laid Paige against Wendy’s chest, warm and furious and alive, Wendy burst into tears so hard her whole body shook against the operating table.

“We did it,” Mitchell whispered, forehead pressed to hers.

For that one moment everything else disappeared. The room. The surgery. The months of blood sugar readings and swallowed insults and family politics and fear. All of it vanished under the weight of seven pounds and some ounces of new life.

Then the anesthesia began to fade.