As the paramedics prepared to transport me to the hospital, Marcus never left my side. He talked to them, ensuring they had all the details they needed, his voice steady and reassuring. I was lifted onto a stretcher, and as they wheeled me toward the waiting ambulance, I saw my mother step forward as if to speak.

Marcus intercepted her, his body a protective wall. Whatever words she had were lost in the urgency of the moment, swallowed by the sound of the ambulance doors closing with a definitive thud. We were on our way to the hospital, and in that enclosed space, a new certainty settled over me.

The journey to the hospital was a blur of medical questions and flashing lights, but through it all, Marcus held my hand. His presence was a constant reminder that I was not alone in this, that I had someone who prioritized our well-being over social facades.

Hours later, with medical staff bustling around us and the sterile scent of the hospital settling in, our child was born. The world outside seemed to pause, the earlier chaos fading into the background as a new, softer reality took its place. Marcus stood beside me, his eyes filled with awe and love as he cradled our newborn son.

In that room, away from the pretense and performance, we started our family on a foundation of truth and solidarity. I knew the challenges with my family were far from over, revelations like these don’t dissolve overnight, but in that moment, basking in the glow of new life, I realized I had everything I needed to face them.

As our son blinked up at us, unaware of the storm he had been born into, I felt a swell of hope. Here was a new beginning, an opportunity to rewrite what family meant—a chance to nurture a relationship built not on appearances, but on unwavering love and support. And in that sense, I knew we would be just fine.