I remember hearing someone say “Delivery at 10:13,” followed by silence. No crying. But then - a sound. A small cry from Charlie. It would be the only one we would ever hear.

We held hands, cried tears of relief, and thought the hardest part was behind us. But just moments later, a doctor approached and said Charlie would be going to the NICU. They paused her bed beside me so I could tell her I loved her and rub her cheek.

Time passed. We kept asking for updates, but were told again and again that she was just getting settled. “Soon,” they said. “In 30 minutes.” Then an hour. Then no clear answers.