Rain tapped gently against the hospital window. The sky hung low and gray, as if even the heavens mourned silently. In the cold white hospital bed, your husband, Vincen, lay weak and fragile. His once-strong frame had grown thin, his skin pale, his breath shallow and strained.

You sat by his side, your hand tightly holding his. Inside you, a small life was growing — the child you both had longed for, dreamed of, and prayed for.

“I’m sorry… I won’t be able to wait until the baby is born,” Vincen whispered, his voice barely audible, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile.

You fought back tears. You wanted to be strong — for him, for the baby. But the truth was, your world was falling apart.

“Don’t say that… You promised you’d choose the name,” you replied, your voice shaking, almost pleading — trying to convince him, or maybe yourself, that this wasn’t real.

Vincen looked at you for a long moment. His eyes were full of love… and quiet resignation.

“I’ve given everything I have to you. Now… give the rest to our child, okay?”

---

Vincen passed away before he could see his baby born. He slipped away peacefully, in the middle of a rainy night, as you whispered prayers into his ear, your heart breaking in silence.

The days that followed were heavy. The house felt empty — no more laughter echoing in the halls, no arms to hold you at night, no one to gently lay a hand on your belly and whisper dreams of the future.

Sometimes you would still play his old voice notes, just to hear him again. A familiar voice turned into memory. You cried in secret almost every night, aching for someone who would never come back.

But even in your deepest grief, you stood up. You carried on. Because inside you lived a part of him — a tiny heartbeat that was also his.

And when that day finally came — when your baby's first cry filled the delivery room — you wept. Not from sorrow, but from overwhelming love.

“Welcome to the world, little one… Your father would be so proud of you.”