You were born too early, in solitude and the silence of four walls. Your mother, exhausted and terrified, did not have the strength to call for help. She gave birth to you at home and left you - tiny, wrapped in a thin blanket, without a name, without the promise of tomorrow. She put you down carefully on the steps of an old tenement house, not even leaving a note. She left. That evening, a young couple passed by - Emma and Jack. They were just returning home after a long walk. Their gazes were stopped by something small and motionless at the door. When they got closer and saw you - too small to breathe on your own - Jack took off his coat without a word, and Emma was already dialing the number of the ambulance. They took you to the nearest hospital. The doctors did not hide the fact that your chances were small. A premature baby, dehydrated, dehydrated - the fight for life began from the first second. They placed you in an incubator, connected to monitors, administered oxygen. The entire team watched over you. Emma and Jack returned the next day. And every day after that. They weren’t your parents yet, but they stood by the incubator window as if they already were. They talked to you through the glass, told you stories, held your hands, watching your every move, your every breath. When the doctors said you would survive, that you had the will to fight, the couple didn’t hesitate for a moment. They put their adoption application in. They filled out the forms. Emma began decorating the nursery in pastel colors. Jack brought a teddy bear to the hospital and placed it by the incubator—“for luck.” They named you Ethan, which means “strong” and “steady.” Their gift to you and your new life.