“We need to help her first, sweetheart.”
They took Lucy to the neonatal intensive care unit.
I was frightened, but I believed the doctors were doing everything possible to save her.
All night, I asked for updates.
I wanted to know whether she was breathing comfortably.
Whether she’d opened her eyes.
Whether I could finally hold her.
The following morning, a doctor entered my room.
His expression told me something was wrong before he spoke.
“I’m very sorry,” he said.
He explained that my daughter hadn’t survived.
For a moment, I couldn’t understand the words.
I kept waiting for him to say there had been a mistake.
That Lucy was still in intensive care.
That she needed treatment but would eventually come home.
Instead, he repeated his condolences.
My baby was gone.
I left the hospital carrying a small bag of belongings.
Inside was the outfit I’d planned to dress her in.
