everything
It all began during a routine checkup at our gynecologist, Dr. Rossi’s office. I was sitting on the examination table with one hand resting on my belly, feeling Matteo’s firm grip at my side. He tried to reassure me with a smile, but in his eyes I could see the same apprehension that was simmering in my chest.
Dr. Rossi stared at the ultrasound screen for what seemed like an eternity. The silence in the room became dense, almost tangible. He magnified the image, moved the probe, and counted again with extreme care. In that precise moment, I understood that our lives were about to change forever, even before he uttered a single word.
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“Doctor… is my baby okay?” I asked, my voice cracking with anxiety. The doctor
slowly turned toward us, taking off his glasses with a measured gesture. “The children, Camilla,” he replied. That plural word echoed through the walls of the office. I looked at Matteo and saw the same bewilderment in his eyes: how many could there be?
Dr. Rossi took a deep breath before revealing the truth: “I see seven perfectly implanted fetuses.” Seven. That number resonated like a powerful echo. We didn’t know whether to give in to joy or give in to fear. Seven children represented an immense blessing, but at the same time a medical and personal challenge of titanic proportions for anyone.
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From that day on, our house was never truly silent again. The news spread quickly, and relatives, neighbors, and acquaintances came to visit. Some gazed at my belly in profound wonder, some offered me
