And I will carry the truth—the unbearable, miraculous truth—that my son lived.
That love, in its strangest form, gave him back to me.
Sometimes, when I watch Stefan and Daniel together, I wonder what might have been if the hospital had not made that mistake. If I had raised them both, side by side.
But then I see Clara’s smile, the way Daniel clings to her hand, and I know: fate is messy, cruel, and yet sometimes merciful.
I lost five years. But I gained a family.
And every Sunday, when we walk in the park, Stefan always says the same thing:
“Mom, he was in your belly with me.”
And now, I believe him.
