Between Bruises and Blooms

I spent months
Preparing myself
For every possibility.

Extra ultrasounds.
Extra appointments.
Extra prayers.

Two little girls
Sharing one placenta,
Sharing one heartbeat
Worth of hope
Split into two.

I told myself
Not to expect too much.

Maybe one would need the NICU.
Maybe they’d come home
On different days.
Maybe I’d leave the hospital
With empty arms,
Waiting for the other.

I rehearsed
A hundred versions
Of goodbye.

None of them happened.

Instead,
You both stayed.

Tiny.
Bald.
Perfect.

Three days later,
The nurse wheeled us
Toward the doors,
And for a moment
I couldn’t believe it.

Two car seats.

Two daughters.

One trip home.

Sometimes,
The miracles
You prepare yourself to lose
Are the very ones
You get to keep.