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Everything was going without a hitch: my belly was starting to show, and the baby was growing well and had already won my heart. And then the inevitable happened, in the space of a few hours. Everything went wrong. The baby had to come out… The only words that came to my mind: “She’s too small.” I must have said them dozens of times. Machines, doctors, nurses, Ronald McDonald House… and above all, MY DAUGHTER. My daughter, who needed me to name her and who could be gone the next day. Because that’s how it was. She might be gone in the next instant. And the days went by; days of admiring her in the enormous incubator, barely touching her for fear of hurting her or giving her germs. Then one day, finally, she wrapped her tiny hand around my thumb and gazed at me. Today, I still can’t believe that she’s here, a part of my life and as healthy as can be. She’s two years old, and her name is Charlie.