This book was not born from tranquility, nor from a comfortable desk, nor from an easy story to tell. This book was born in waiting rooms, amid cold diagnoses, silent tears, and desperate prayers. It was born in a womb where life fought to make its way through when others had already decided its end. I do not write these pages as an expert, nor as a doctor, nor as someone who had everything under control. I write as a mother. As a woman. As someone who was confronted with the news no family expects to receive. One day, they told me that my daughter was not "compatible with life." That she might not be born. That if she was born, she would not live. That the best thing to do was "prepare myself." But no one can prepare for something like that.
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