A Glimpse Inside the Story

This is just one moment. There are many. Some are tender. Some aching. All true.

 I had never been in an ambulance. I lay still on the narrow stretcher while the medic monitored my vitals—every movement I made mattered. A bag of fluid hung above me. The air smelled of alcohol and metal. The siren swelled and my mind raced. I tried to contain the tears, but they inevitably ran down the sides of my face.

I turned my face toward the wall of the vehicle, trying not to think about what might come next. I was four centimeters dilated—something that isn't supposed to happen until labor. I was twenty weeks pregnant.

   Earlier that afternoon, before the ambulance, before the panic—David and I had simply gone to a routine appointment. The twenty-week ultrasound. I walked out the door carrying both joy and dread, but also silent preparedness. I carried a promise in my heart and mature knowledge in my mind. Olivia's life and death had prepared me to face anything—and if God's will involved something we didn't expect, then I was ready to receive it.

   Still, I felt a deep assurance—almost tangible—that things would be all right. And they had been going really well. Things seemed to be on track.  The genetic screening had come back as low risk for any the more common genetic conditions—including Trisomy 18. 

Seeing those results felt like clearing one more hurdle in the relay this journey had become. 

Bleeding—still pregnant.

Eight-week ultrasound—good.

Ten-week ultrasound—good.

Belly growth—on track. 

   We'd even found out we were having a boy. It was a happy accident that the doctor sent an email and accidentally included the baby's gender. For a little over a week—until the gender reveal party—only I knew we were having a son. It was like a wink from God—as if He’d said, “You have experienced so much loss intimately. You will also experience much joy the same way.”

In the days that followed, I’d open the email time and time again—like a love letter—to look at the test results. I'd smile and thank God for such gifts.

All seemed well.

But I didn't know that when I walked out of my house that morning, David would be returning alone.    

   

Book Summary

When Saida found herself pregnant amid a marital crisis and legal storm, she thought the worst was behind her. But her path would lead through an unexpected diagnosis, the brief life of her daughter Olivia, and the near-death arrival of her son Gabriel—born at just 23 weeks.

This lyrical and faith-rooted memoir traces a woman's journey through loss, hope, and fragile resilience. Told in three interwoven parts, it explores what it means to keep walking when you don’t feel strong—and how God meets us in our strength, but sees us through with His.


For anyone who’s faced a detour they didn’t choose—this is for you.

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Why I’m Writing This 

I didn’t set out to write a book. I set out to survive. Words on a page was how I made sense of the chaos. So with the little strength I had, I picked up a journal and pen on one particularly grief-filled day. I started to chronicle my journey—sensing one day God would call me to share my story. Share the hope I didn't yet have—the miracles I didn't yet see. The transformation that was yet to be.

This is that story. And it's not about having the right answers. It’s about telling the truth gently. About giving voice to what many women, mothers, and believers carry silently: the longing, the loss, the faith that flickers but never fully dies.

I’m writing this for the woman on her bathroom floor, the one in the hospital bed, the one who feels like hope is too fragile to touch. I want her to know: she is not alone.

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The Structure

The memoir is told in three parts:

Part I: When Everything Changed

A fractured marriage, an unplanned pregnancy, and a courtroom that threatened it all.


Part II: The Life We Had to Let Go

Olivia’s diagnosis. Carrying a daughter I knew I’d have to say goodbye to. The sacred space of loving and letting go.


Part III: The Fight to Hold On

A high-risk pregnancy. Gabriel’s birth at 23 weeks. The NICU nights. The miracle.

Each chapter threads memory with meaning, inviting the reader not just into my story—but into their own.


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Who This Book Is For

  • Believers who want a memoir that is honest, tender, and anchored in faith

  • Women who have lost a child or carried a complicated pregnancy

  • Mothers of NICU babies and micro-preemies

  • Couples in marital crisis

  • Those walking through grief, spiritual uncertainty, or quiet surrender

  • Anyone who needs to be reminded: you don’t have to be strong to be held by a strong God

The memoir is currently in progress.

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