After 6 miscarriages, my wife finally gave birth to the daughter we prayed for — 18 years later, she sobbed, “Dad, you have no idea what Mom did”

Six times, we lost the pregnancy.

By the fourth miscarriage, people had stopped knowing what to say to us. By the sixth, even I had stopped knowing what to say to my wife.

So when Camille became pregnant for the seventh time, we barely celebrated at first.

We simply prayed.

Every appointment terrified us. Every quiet morning made me wonder whether something had gone wrong overnight. Camille became almost painfully careful with herself, and I became the kind of husband who watched her walk down three steps and wanted to put cushions at the bottom.

There was one thing that bothered me.

Her stomach remained unusually small.