“The pressure is stabilizing slightly,” the nurse anesthetist murmured, checking the monitors.

“Beginning the incision,” the surgeon announced.

I felt no pain, only a strange, deep pressure, a tugging sensation that made my chest feel heavy.

“Almost there,” the nurse whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead with a cold cloth.

A sudden, sharp cry broke through the hum of the medical equipment.

It was a thin, angry sound, but it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

“A girl,” the doctor said, holding a small, slick form over the top of the blue curtain.

Tears spilled down my temples, soaking into my hair.

“She’s perfect, Colonel.”

They took her to the warming table under the bright lights in the corner of the room.

I watched as they cleaned her, her tiny legs kicking against the air, her fists clenched tightly.

The nurse brought her over to me, wrapped tight in a pink-and-blue striped hospital blanket.

Her tiny face was red, her eyes squinting against the light.

“Evelyn,” I whispered, touching her soft, damp cheek with the tip of my finger.