Two Pink Lines.

When I saw the two pink lines,

wonder bloomed before belief.

A quiet miracle whispered,

You are not alone anymore.

Days passed,

and disbelief learned to breathe.

I felt you before the world could see you—

a flutter, a promise,

tiny feet knocking on my heart.

My body changed its language for you,

hunger spoke differently,

sleep carried new dreams.

Voices around me advised, warned, instructed—

but I listened only to you.

As the due date walked closer,

my strength began to thin.

Exhaustion settled deep,

and fear found a voice I couldn’t silence.

What if I don’t return from that room?

Who will love you like I do?

Who will know your cries,

your silences,

your need to be held without asking?

I was afraid of death—

not for myself,

but for the distance it could place between us.

So I prayed,

not for painlessness,

not for ease—

but for life.

Let me stay, God.

Let me raise this heartbeat I carry.

Do not separate me from the soul

that learned my name before birth.

If love could keep us together,

I would never die—

for no one loves like a mother,

and I am already yours.