At the VIP clinic, I was helping my nine-month pregnant daughter change for her final ultrasound. The moment her shirt slipped off, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

sat in a large rocking chair, gently swaying. In her arms, a sleeping baby rested peacefully. She named her Hope—not because life had been kind, but because despite everything, darkness had failed to take her.

Outside our home, the world had shifted dramatically after that day.

Saint Aurelia Women’s Medical Center no longer carried the Thorne name. The continue reading …