Through layers of suffering, I was barely pulled back from the brink. After being rescued, I spent three agonizing months in the hospital just to keep the pregnancy. Even then, Anna was born premature. I stood outside the NICU, staring at the tiny, fragile infant inside. Her skin was bluish, her body so small she barely seemed alive. Clutching the emerald pendant my mother had left me, I fell to my knees and prayed, over and over again, “If there’s a God out there, I beg you, please. Please, please… Protect my daughter. “I would trade my years, my happiness, my everything, just to keep her alive.” The sterile white walls of the hospital had witnessed more desperate prayers and silent tears from mothers than any church ever had. Three months later, Anna finally pulled through. As I watched her sleep peacefully, tears streamed down my face. I fastened the pendant around her tiny neck. From that moment on, my life was no longer mine alone. One half still belonged to me.
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