I lay in the delivery room, my heart beating so hard it felt like it could be heard through the walls. The sterile light of the lamps was blinding, and around me there was only the faint hum of equipment and the nurses’ whispers.

Suddenly the doctor who had delivered the baby came closer. His gaze fixed on my face, his eyes widened, and almost inaudibly he said:
— It’s… it’s you?

I blinked, not understanding his words. The mask covered most of his face, and I couldn’t read his expression. And in that moment, it didn’t matter…

I held my son in my arms in the delivery room, trying to come to terms with the fact that my life had changed forever.

Suddenly the door opened slowly, and the doctor walked into the room. He stopped in front of me and said quietly:
— I know the truth… about your child.

My hands clenched, my heart jumped. I felt a mix of fear and shame — he knew exactly what had happened with the “homeless man” that night.

— Wh… what do you mean? — I whispered, not looking away.

Then he removed his mask. In that very moment, everything tightened in my chest. I saw his face and recognized that very man from the street.

— This is my child, — he said. — I did a genetic test.

I lowered my eyes to the baby, my heart racing, my mind refusing to believe. The doctor continued:
— I was exhausted after a long shift and simply sat down on the street. At that moment you thought I was homeless.

In that moment my whole world turned upside down. Hatred, shame, and fear melted away, leaving only the miracle — the child turned out to be the link between a past and a new chance at life that we were given together.