Jacob’s mop squeaked over the linoleum floor, pushing away dirt that never seemed to end. The smell of disinfectant mixed with stale coffee filled the air, while the humming fluorescent lights flickered overhead, like even they were tired of being here. He leaned against the mop handle, rubbing his sore shoulder. “Thirty-seven and still pushing a mop,” he muttered bitterly. “Some career move, Jacob. Real upgrade.” Working as a janitor at this big corporate company wasn’t glamorous. He didn’t have friends here, except maybe the vending machine on the second

I thought nearly dying during childbirth would be the scariest part of becoming a mother. I was wrong. The labor stretched on for 18 agonizing hours—every complication you could imagine, one after another. My blood pressure spiked, then crashed. The beeping monitors turned into frantic alarms, and I caught the tense looks the doctors and nurses exchanged. It was the kind of look no patient ever wants to see. Dr. Martinez’s voice cut through the chaos. Calm but urgent, she said, “We need to get this baby out now.” I

The Baby with My Eyes After five long years of trying and praying, it was finally happening—Stephanie and I were about to become parents. Her hand gripped mine like a vise as another contraction hit. Her knuckles turned white, but her eyes stayed focused and determined. Our families hovered just outside the delivery room, their voices soft but full of excitement. Everyone was waiting for this moment. The doctor gave me a small, reassuring nod. “You’re doing great, Stephanie. Almost there.” I leaned closer, brushing her damp forehead. “You’re doing