Meredith's POV
A pervasive weakness lingered within me, an insurmountable desire to hold my newborns close, cradling them in my feeble arms. The room was aglow with the soft hum of medical machinery, a sterile ambiance that contradicted the warmth of parental yearning.
The doctor, a figure of authority and reason, gently denied my immediate instinct. "Meredith, you will, but not now," the words hovered in the air, weighted with a cautious concern. "You must conserve your energy first, and we must place them in the incubator. You will be able to see them once you have enough rest," the doctor assured, her tone carrying both professional detachment and compassionate reassurance.
Beside me, my father, a pillar of support, leaned in and whispered words of pride. "I'm proud of you, princess. You made it," his lips brushed against my forehead, a tender gesture that sought to convey a depth of paternal affection. Despite the weakness in my body, his words were a comforting balm.
