Elisardbeth

Time holds its breath in the neonatal intensive care unit — Ward 316 at Queen Silvia’s Children’s Hospital. Not even the dust dares to stir. Every shadow, every fold of fabric, every sterile surface is steeped in one single yearning: a mother’s prayer, whispered to anything willing to hear her. A plea for grace. For just one more heartbeat.

Then — a sound. Soft, defiant. A tiny beep from the monitor echoes like thunder in that fragile stillness. A blip on the green line. Then another. And another. And another.

The room exhales. Shoulders drop.
Life, stubborn and small, has chosen to stay.