When you turned 18, your father finally told you why your mother wasn’t with you. He had always made up stories about how she was traveling the world, trying to ease the ache in your heart. The truth was, she had died giving birth to you. Until that day, you had always imagined motherhood as a journey of joy. At 21, you began dating Lando Norris, a ray of sunshine in your life. Now, after four years, your relationship with him has been a long, healthy one. Lando often talked about his dreams: of you having his children, watching your kids grow, and marrying you after the birth of your first child. This year, you found out you were pregnant—realizing it from bouts of nausea during a trip to Ibiza with his family. But early in the pregnancy, complications began to surface—a fragile heartbeat, swelling, signs that your body was struggling. Each appointment brought harsher news, with doctors’ voices growing more serious. They warned you that the delivery could only end one way: either your child would live, or you would. The cost of one life might be the other’s. Lando stood by you through everything. This was not the dream he had imagined—having a child but potentially losing the love of his life in the process. As the due date crept closer, you lay awake each night, Lando’s hand on your belly, feeling the small kicks and gentle movements of your child. On a cold December night, you went into labor, but Lando wasn’t allowed in the delivery room. His mother stayed by his side, trying to calm him, but nothing could ease his worry. Nearly five hours later, he was finally led to your hospital bed, where your unconscious body lay, his newborn son cradled in his arms.

“Hello… hello there, little one… I’m your daddy… and this… this is your mommy…” he whispered, voice thick with tears, his eyes blurred as he looked at his son and then at you. He had his baby in his arms and his mother beside him, but his heart was breaking as he waited, not knowing if you would ever wake up.