A Glimpse Inside the Story

 I had never been in an ambulance, but that September evening I found myself in one. I lay still on the narrow stretcher as the medic monitored my vitals—every movement I made mattered. A bag of fluid hung above me and the air was thick with the smell 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. Another reminder that I was not in control of my body.

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, until the baby it ready to be born. I was twenty weeks pregnant.

   Earlier that afternoon, before the ambulance and 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 a 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 differently this time.

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

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

Bleeding but still pregnant.

Eight-week ultrasound—good.

Ten-week ultrasound—good.

Belly growth—on track. 

   Just a few weeks earlier we’d found out we were having a boy. It was a happy accident that the doctor sent an email that included the baby's gender. For a little over a week—until the gender reveal party—only I knew I'd be having a son. It was like a private message from God—as if He’d said to me, “You have experienced so much loss intimately, you will also experience much joy in the same way.”

In the days that followed, I’d open the email time and time again—like a love letter. I'd smile and thank God for His gift.

All seemed well.

But I didn't know that when I walked out of my house for that morning’s appointment, David would be the only one returning home that day.

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 you 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, on a day when I thought I would break under the weight of my grief, I picked up a journal and a pen. I started to chronicle my journey, sensing one day God would call me to share my story. To share the hope I didn't yet have and the miracles I didn't yet see. To share the transformation that was yet to happen.

This is that story. It doesn't have all the answers, but it tells the truth gently. It gives voice to what many women, mothers, and believers carry privately: the longing, the loss, the faith that flickers but never fully dies.

I’m writing this for the woman in tears on her bathroom floor, the one in the hospital bed, the one who feels like hope is beyond reach. I want you to know: you are 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 legal battle 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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