“I will do it for you, Samantha,” I whispered softly, pulling her into a tight embrace.
Samantha wept hysterically against my collarbone for what felt like an eternity, squeezing my body so tightly that I could barely draw breath into my lungs. At that precise moment, I was completely convinced that I was granting my beloved sister the ultimate miracle she had been desperately praying for.
The initial months of the pregnancy progressed with remarkable ease, and Samantha accompanied me to every single ultrasound appointment at the local health clinic in downtown Columbus with a radiant smile. She insisted on hearing every flutter of the heartbeat through the monitor, examining every black-and-white printout with absolute obsession, and recording every minor medical detail in her leather journal.
During the sixth month of the pregnancy, as we were relaxing on my living room sofa, the baby delivered a sharp kick against my ribs that made me gasp out loud. Samantha eagerly pressed both of her warm palms flat against my belly, her eyes sparkling with intense joy.
