“This is perfect,” Sky said.
A few years later, Elo and Daniel found out they were expecting.
“Daniel,” she said one afternoon, holding the test in her hand. “I’m pregnant.”
He picked her up and spun her around.
“We’re having a baby,” he said, laughing. “We’re having a baby.”
They told everyone—Ariston, who cried openly; Sky, who screamed; the foundation staff, who cheered.
The pregnancy wasn’t easy. Morning sickness. Exhaustion. Old fears creeping in late at night.
“What if I don’t know how to be a good mom?” she asked her father one evening.
“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “Just love her. Protect her. Listen to her.”
“I will,” she said. “I promise.”
At seven months, they learned it was a girl.
“A daughter,” Elo said in the ultrasound room, tears running down her cheeks. “We’re having a daughter.”
They named her Maya.
When Maya was born, Elo held her in her arms and felt something in her chest break open and reassemble into something stronger.
“Hi, baby girl,” she whispered. “I’m your mom. I promise you’ll always be safe, always loved, always heard.”
“She’s perfect,” Daniel said, eyes shining.
The next day, Sky came to the hospital.
“She looks like you,” Sky said, cradling the tiny bundle.