In August 2016, I received news no parent is ever ready for—my unborn baby had a severe heart condition. The doctor gently explained that my child might not survive and suggested I consider ending the pregnancy. I remember sitting there, stunned, with my two youngest children beside me. The room blurred around me. I went home that day knowing I had to face an impossible decision—but first, I needed to talk to my children.

My daughter Sian was only 7 at the time—bright, gentle, full of wonder. I sat her down and explained that her little sister might not live long after birth. That it might hurt deeply. That we might have to say goodbye too soon.

Her response is something I will carry with me forever.

“It’s ok, mummy,” she said. “We will love her for as long as we have her. Even if it’s only 1 hour, it’s better than never having a sister.”

In that moment, my daughter showed a kind of wisdom that most adults struggle to find. Her words gave me the courage to continue the pregnancy, to face the journey ahead with as much love and strength as we could muster.

Later scans confirmed our baby had Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, a rare and serious condition. There was hope—an 85% chance of survival with immediate surgery—but I guarded my heart. I didn’t dare to hope too much.

And then, Lamees was born.

The delivery room was full of doctors and nurses, ready for every possible emergency. But in the midst of that, it was Sian’s face—full of love and awe—that her little sister saw first.

Lamees fought bravely for 23 days.

And when that day came—when her tiny heart couldn’t fight any longer—it was Sian who held her. It was Sian who washed and dressed her baby sister for the funeral. She never turned away from the pain. She faced it, wrapped in love.

Months later, Sian had a moment of quiet sadness. I reminded her of the words she once told me—those words that helped me hold on when I thought I couldn’t.

She looked at me through tears and said,

“I didn’t think it would hurt this much, Mum… but I’m still glad I got to spend time with her. I will always love her, even if she’s not with us anymore.”

That’s the kind of love this story holds.

And though the photo I’ve shared may be difficult for some to look at—it is filled with more love than I can put into words. It’s a picture of two sisters: one who lived only days, and one who will carry her forever.

Love, even for an hour, can last a lifetime.