I was frozen, my heart shattered in an instant. When I confronted my husband, he broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. He admitted he had lied—not out of cruelty, but out of love. He said he couldn’t bear to see me break, that he feared I wouldn’t survive the truth. And maybe…

maybe he was right. I was so vulnerable, so weak. It was the belief that my baby was alive, waiting for me, that gave me the will to fight, to recover. I had already named her Eva. And even though I never held her in my arms, it was the thought of her that kept me breathing.