Two days before Christmas, our world stopped.

One moment, we were hanging lights 🎄 — laughing, planning, believing in ordinary joy.
The next, my 7-year-old daughter stopped breathing on her own.

Christmas decorations blurred into hospital hallways.
Holiday plans turned into signatures on consent forms.
Machines breathed for her while we stood still, praying into the silence 🤍🙏.

For seven long months, life became alarms, tests, transfusions 🩸, and waiting rooms that never slept.
Hope learned how to whisper.

Then came the night that broke us — her heart stopped 💔.

There were moments when we could do nothing but place her completely in God’s hands, trusting Him with what we loved most. We had no strength left — only faith.

And then… when hope felt impossibly thin — a stranger said yes ✨.

A donor. A miracle. A second chance.

The transplant worked. Two weeks later, the scans came back clear. Doctors called it a success.

We called it mercy 🤍.

The day we were finally told we could leave the hospital, Ava looked up at me and asked, “Can we go see the lights again?” 🎄✨

In that moment, I knew — God wasn’t finished with her.

After 238 days, my child walked out of those doors and went home healthy — for good 🏡🤍.

If you believe prayer still moves mountains, if you believe miracles still arrive when love refuses to give up, please leave a ❤️ or a blessing 🙏✨ below.

Because Ava is living proof that faith still breathes life back into broken moments.