I gave birth prematurely, and my baby was rushed to the NICU while I remained in the hospital, still recovering. My husband visited every day, always with a smile, always saying how beautiful and perfect our daughter was.

His words became my light during the darkest days—I clung to them, imagined her tiny hands, her gentle breathing. Two weeks passed before I felt strong enough to ask a nurse if I could finally meet my baby. But when I did, her face turned pale. She looked at me with a mix of shock and sorrow and whispered, “Don’t you know? Your baby didn’t make it.” She told me my daughter had died just moments after birth—and that my husband had never seen her either…