The pain was blinding, but Grace focused on one thing: surviving.
Push. Breathe. Hang in there.
Finally, a small one slipped into her trembling hands.
Blue. Silent. Too small.
“No, no, no…” Grace cried, rubbing her daughter’s back with her numb fingers. “Breathe, baby. Please, breathe.”
For one terrifying second, nothing happened.
.
Then the baby let out a weak, faint cry.
Grace sobbed with relief.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “Good girl.”
She wrapped the baby in the cardigan and pressed her against her chest to keep her warm.
But there was no time.
Another contraction tore her apart.
The second twin was coming.
Still holding the first baby against her body, Grace braced herself again and pushed. Minutes later, a boy was born.
He was blue too.
He was also silent.
And again she begged him to come back to life.
“Please,” she cried. “Please, baby. Breathe for Mommy.”
Finally, she gasped. Then she cried.
Both babies were alive.
Impossible. Tiny. Ice cream.
But alive.
