Three years into our marriage, there was still no pregnancy. After many attempts, it finally happened—but I mis_¢arried. Later that same year, I became pregnant again, only to mis_¢arry once more. Over the next two years, I experienced two more mis_¢arriages. I was exhausted from hoping, only to have my hopes crushed each time. Beyond that, I was tired of ¢rying.
My body felt empty and h0llow, so I told my husband, "Let's take a break. If you need a child that much, please consider having one with another woman. I’ll understand."
He understood my pain, and we decided to use family planning. However, the method disrupted my body and menstrual cycle until I finally decided enough was enough. I stopped using it and consulted a doctor. He asked us to meet him in two weeks since he was out of town. When he returned, we went to see him. He advised against stopping family planning, but I was determined to give my body—and my heart—a break.
Days later, during another appointment, he requested a test. I took it and discovered I was pregnant again. I was shattered and scared. "What if...?" I began to say, but my husband gently interrupted, "What if it works out this time?"
That baby is now on my lap as I write this. Fifteen months old and full of energy. She was completely unexpected, but she was the one who survived. We call her Miracle—a miracle that came just when I had given up. All the heartbreak, the physical pain, and the emptiness from countless tears have culminated in an unexpected joy that I now hold in my arms every day.
