Her contractions came like thunderclaps, tearing through her body in relentless waves. She pressed her back against a dumpster, one trembling hand clutching her swollen belly, the other gripping the icy ground for strength.

“Please… not here,” she whispered to no one. But nature had no mercy to give.

Minutes bled into hours. Then, through the howl of the wind, a sound emerged—small, fragile, miraculous.
A cry.

A baby’s cry.

Lila stared at the tiny child in her shaking arms, wrapped in her torn coat. The infant’s skin glowed pink against the snow, her cries thin but fierce, as if declaring her will to live.

Tears streaked down Lila’s face.
“You’re my miracle,” she breathed, voice trembling.

But her body was failing. The cold was sinking deeper than pain—into bone, into soul. She knew her time was slipping away.