A week can be far too long when you are living in expectation.
The days passed as though the world had lowered its volume — not truly silent, but muffled, restrained, as if someone had placed cotton between reality and me. Every morning I woke, took a deep breath, rested my hand on my belly, and mentally counted the beats of my own heart before remembering there were now two others depending on it.
Marco and Rosa did not leave my side for a single moment.
Rosa began appearing throughout the day with different teas, each one accompanied by an old explanation — the kind woven from faith, tradition, and care. She never spoke of fear. Never. She spoke of strength, of rest, of trusting the body and time. Sometimes she would sit beside me without saying a word, gently stroking my hair, as if
