Firstborn: A Memoir

by Lauren Christensen

“An achingly beautiful testament to fierce loss, fierce love and fierce resilience.” —People Magazine

“You will find yourself rationing out pages to spend more time in the glow of Christensen’s luminous prose and inextinguishable love. A triumph.” —Oprah Daily (best new books to read this spring)

A lapidary memoir of losing a child before she can be born, which the author began writing the day she came home from the hospital—an intimate story about our most searing losses and brightest hopes

“Some days I still think this is all just a sad story I’ll tell Simone one day.”

Lauren Christensen is a thirtysomething editor in New York City when she meets her future husband, Gabe, a writer with whom she falls in love right away. Her beloved grandfather is dying, but the young couple is bringing new life into the Lauren and Gabe joyfully discover she is pregnant with their daughter, Simone.

As Lauren faces the prospect of becoming a parent, she learns to let go of the fear of abandonment and need for control instilled in her by growing up with a largely absent father and a high-powered mother who was often away on business. Lauren and Gabe are incandescently happy in their exuberant, messy, beautiful shared world. But just weeks after their wedding, they learn that their worst nightmare has come Simone is dying in the womb.

In fierce, tender, spellbinding prose, Firstborn brings us to the very heart of the human How do we live when everyone who makes up our world will someday be gone? And how can we mourn when the cosmic order has been turned upside down—when a child dies before she is born?

As she comes up against the brutal limits of maternal healthcare and the limitlessness of her love for her daughter, Lauren Christensen finds a key, generous and brave, in which to share her loss, a testimony whose diamond-like brilliance refracts a universal light.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, Audiobook, Grief, Mental Health, Biography Memoir, Aapi

202 pages, Kindle Edition

First published March 18, 2025

About the author

Lauren Christensen is an editor at The New York Times Book Review. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and son.

Reviews

[Sam Cheng · Rating 5 out of 5]

An editor by trade, Christensen recounts her aging grandfather’s (公公) decline in cognitive functions, her frayed relationship with her mom. who frequently traveled for work when Christensen grew up, and, most centrally, aborting her daughter, Simone, at 33 years old. At Christensen’s 20-week ultrasound appointment, she learns of Simone’s missing or partially missing X chromosome. The Turner syndrome significantly lowers Simone’s chance of surviving to term, and the pregnancy increases Christensen’s risk of preeclampsia. Additionally, Christensen remarks on her relationship with her husband, eating disorder, and OCD behaviors. The heart of Firstborn lies in the ideas of maternity and morality. Christensen grieves the termination of her unplanned yet wanted pregnancy and 公公’s death. Both deaths are unnatural in their respective ways—the author details birthing her stillborn daughter; 公公 was a stalwart in the family, from Hong Kong to North America.

Christensen’s ethnicity unexpectedly perforated my emotional shell. Moreover, the weightiest moment is Christensen’s depiction of her search for her daughter after she’s discharged from the hospital. While recuperating in her mother’s house, she violently realizes she doesn’t know where Simone is. Is she still in the hospital? Have they already cremated her 1 lb. 2 oz. body? Her maternal instinct to urgently protect fiercely surfaces, except that her responsibility for Simone’s life ended. This was hard for me.

I’m telling all my mommy friends, those lamenting miscarrying or otherwise (and really anyone else who’s interested in memoirs), about Christensen’s book. Editors who can write are gifts; Christensen gifts us Firstborn.

[Audrey Farley · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’m so moved by this book about losing an unborn daughter to Turner Syndrome. (My niece died of complications of TS at two months old.) When little Simone is dying in her womb and Christensen risks Mirror Syndrome and stroke, she chooses to terminate. That she doesn’t elect to die alongside her daughter will surely turn pious readers away. (What’s some poor woman’s life compared to their easy, ignorant certainties about the world?)

That’s a shame, as this book has such a poetics of life. I recited the Hail Mary as a child and carried two children, but I’ve never felt so deeply what it means to be enthralled by the “fruit of [one’s] womb,” as the prayer goes.

Even after a hygroma overtakes her skull and spine, Simone is said to be a “miracle”—a word, incidentally, on the grave of my niece, born with her own fluid sac that we all came to know and love. Even after she begins to die, Simone continues to bring her parents hope and joy. This little girl is beautifully agential, not least because Christensen refuses either to politicize her life/death or to mention the son she went on to have. This really is Simone’s story.

Have you ever read something by or about a woman who “chose life” that gives such authority to the child? That is, that neither politicizes the child’s existence nor relegates it to a footnote in the hagiography of the mother? If you don’t know what I mean, see the below-linked story on the late Jessica Hanna, who gained 45,000 followers for refusing chemo while pregnant. She’s quoted asking if God was using her to “show a miracle” or to “show people how to die gracefully.” In the comments, people extol Hanna and call for her to be canonized. Notice the way her four children haunt the story, mentioned at beginning and end but only as having been “left behind.” They are ghosts on the page, and you have to wonder what they are allowed to say in life.

Christensen is selfless enough to give her story over to the child she couldn’t save. (“Either she dies, or you both die,” one doctor tells her.) It’s impossible not to be moved by the way she makes room for this other being. The pregnancy is something of a surprise, and the surprise is part of the miracle. Life’s unexpected gifts are worth cherishing, Christensen reminds us, and so are the feeble, fleeting bodies of those like Simone.

https://www.ncregister.com/cna/jessic...

[Carolyn · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an important memoir that women facing miscarriage will relate to. Lauren Christiansen's story weaves her Chinese-American heritage, her love of family, and her devotion to Simone, her child who is in utero and develops complications that are incompatible with life. In this moving story, the heartache is palpable, and her emotions are raw as she figures out that she will not be able to safely carry her baby to term.

This is a book that pro-life and pro-choice women will see themselves in, as Christensen is carrying a very-much wanted baby. The choice between her life or her life and her baby's is no choice at all, yet she continues to hold onto hope. I couldn't put this book down, and hope that women who have suffered a loss will find solace in this book.

Highly recommended for libraries and book clubs.

[Ashley V · Rating 5 out of 5]

I wish I could assign this out as required reading to those in my life who do not get what it is like to lose your first baby. Like Christiansen, I too read McCracken’s An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination in the days after my loss. But Christiansen’s account feels closer to my own story- the deep connection that is built with your unborn child over the course of a pregnancy, the immense love, and the horrors of having to “choose” to terminate when there is no hope for your baby surviving but having to protect your own health. I really appreciated this memoir. Not only was it beautifully written (and narrated in the audiobook version), but it also helped me process some of the grief of my own 2nd trimester loss.

[Rebecca Shrader · Rating 3 out of 5]

It’s hard to rate a memoir that’s about someone else’s life experience, but there’s something about the writing that didn’t hit for me. It was scattered/disorganized and there was a lot of information about her upbringing that could have been left out because it didn’t add much to the story. As a loss mom twice over who has had stillbirths myself her description of delivering a baby no longer alive is spot on. It’s a traumatic experience no one understands until they’ve been there. I hope this author is doing well now.

[Julissa · Rating 5 out of 5]

Heartbreakingly beautiful

[Geli S · Rating 5 out of 5]

Einfach krass. Herzerschütternd. Mental zerstörend aber auch tröstlich. Eine Geschichte, die all die Herzen berührt, die solch einen Verlust erlebt haben. Diese Frau hat meinen ganzen Respekt so ehrlich über dieses traumatische Erlebnis zu sprechen. Aber diese Worte werden so vielen Frauen in ihren dunkelsten Momenten helfen ❤️ Danke.

[Lindsay · Rating 5 out of 5]

Beautiful. So tragically relatable, to be among those who will never bring their infant home. “Either one of you dies or both of you die.” When there is no choice in the matter, how does that explain being pro choice? Christensen recalls feelings, self-doubt and questions I’d long forgotten. Bravo.

[Marinna · Rating 5 out of 5]

Firstborn is a beautifully heart-wrenching memoir of a thirty-three year old first time mother. Lauren Christensen intimately details her life - from falling in love with her husband, her upbringing with an absent father and working mother, to the experience of deciding to have a child. Christensen writes in a way that allows you into her life and inside her head as she experiences the decline of her beloved grandfather and the eventual demise of her pregnancy with her daughter Simone.

This is so much more than a story of loss. I found myself crying often while reading this, not just because I am 23 weeks pregnant, but because it was so easy to empathize with the thought processes and experiences which Christensen so eloquently shared. She is able to honor her own experiences while letting the world know just how much her daughter meant to her. I loved the rawness presented in Firstborn. Christensen is unfiltered in her emotions and was candid about feeling the need for her mom as a grown woman. This is such a relatable feeling when you are a woman of childbearing age, especially when being pregnant and giving birth.

I was happy to see a name not previously mentioned, Noah, in the acknowledgments. I hope that this means she was able to have a future successful pregnancy after her loss of Simone on February 1st, 2023. I think that many women who have experienced loss will find this memoir both comforting and empowering. Unfortunately, pregnancy and life do not always go as planned and it can be helpful to know you are not alone. I would highly recommend this book to any woman who has experienced a TFMR (termination for medical reasons), as this is so often a type of loss that is not talked about enough. There is so much love in this book and I think that is what makes it memorable as a reader.

Thank you to NetGalley, PENGUIN GROUP The Penguin Press, Penguin Press, and the author Lauren Christensen for an ARC of Firstborn in exchange for an honest review!

[Lauren · Rating 4 out of 5]

Gorgeous and sad sad sad. Going to go hug my baby now.

[Abi Porter]

I can’t rate a memoir with such a heavy topic but it was so beautifully written and SO sad.

[Manisha]

Listened to the audiobook.

DNF @ 16%

[Anastasia Robinson · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.75. Like a friend telling you a very sad story with honesty and raw emotion.

[Danielle Lowitz · Rating 4 out of 5]

A sweet memoir of a mother losing her unborn daughter. Having had 2 miscarriages myself, it was an intimate experience that I unfortunately could relate with.

[Bookonarooftop · Rating 5 out of 5]

As someone who loves reading memoirs, Firstborn by Lauren Christensen was such a heartbreaking and raw read. This is a story that needed to be told and one that deserves to be read.

When we think about pregnancy, we often focus on its joy, assuming it will have a happy ending. No one really stops to wonder, Will this pregnancy end happily? because that thought feels too awful to entertain. But for some, that question becomes painfully real.

I want to applaud Lauren for telling us the story of Simone because she should be remembered. It was incredibly brave of her to share this journey and the struggles she faced. The memoir powerfully reinforces the importance of letting women decide what happens to their own bodies. (And no, we shouldn't let men who will never experience this pain make those decisions for us.)

My heart ached for Christensen as she held onto hope and tried to fight to save both her baby and herself. While her mother just wanted her daughter to be alive and well. One of the most devastating moments for me was when Lauren's mother broke down, torn between mourning her unborn granddaughter and begging her daughter to choose herself. That is the bond mothers share with their children: the unshakable desire to keep them safe, even when it means making heartbreaking choices. The memoir beautifully explores this mother-daughter connection and the power of family support in times of unimaginable loss.

But this is not just a story about loss; it’s a story about resilience. It's the story of a woman who fought for her daughter, who carried her child and then had to say goodbye. It’s also the story of a husband and wife who stood by each other through their darkest hours. Christensen masterfully explores grief, child loss, and the anxieties of motherhood with raw honesty and depth. As a woman, I could deeply relate to her fears and choices.

This memoir is not just heartbreaking. It is profoundly important. It lingers in your heart long after the final page, reminding us of the strength it takes to grieve, to love, and to keep going.

[Gabriela Turner Kates · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is one of the most impactful memoirs I’ve read. Through her words, you feel the desperation and devastation Lauren felt from the loss of her baby girl. Stories like this are so important for women to hear, simply because rare circumstances like this leave them feeling isolated and vulnerable. I know Lauren had a great support system, and I hope she is at peace in her grief journey. Firstborn is a beautiful telling of a horribly tragic story. “My baby died before she was born” — words no mother, albeit, parent, should ever have to say.

[Mălina Maria · Rating 5 out of 5]

Despite our delusions, when it came down to it, none of us ever had much control over our lives, or our deaths, at all.

I read this book in one breath—and it feels like it was written that way too. The words flow into each other seamlessly, breathlessly, as if the story couldn’t be told any other way. I hesitate to even call this a review, especially for a memoir. How do you dissect someone’s life and emotions? Especially when they’re offered so openly, so vulnerably. Reading it feels like being invited into someone’s most private spaces—their home, their relationship, their family, their uterus. And who am I to pass judgment on any of it?

You could say that the opening pages are almost poetic—the rhythm, the syntax—but grief isn’t poetry. Losing someone doesn’t become more bearable with time. Especially not a child. Especially not an unborn child. And then you're left alone with the tormenting thought of a life that ended before it had the chance to begin. That kind of pain—grief without a bottom—makes more sense in fiction than it ever can in real life. And I don’t want to exaggerate when I say this, but Firstborn: A Memoir might be one of the most devastating—yet least self-conscious—books about loss I’ve ever read. It doesn’t try to teach, to justify, or to explain. It simply exists—raw, honest, and unforgettable.

That night I fell asleep watching Game of Thrones, which Tom had persuaded me to watch for the first time that fall, as a distraction from morning sickness. I started from the beginning and made it a little bit past the Red Wedding by the time Simone died, and I haven’t been able to turn it on since.

What struck me most is how fragile motherhood appears in this memoir—not only because of the loss of a child, but because of how heavily Lauren bears the weight of an unlived life. She chooses to end it officially, though it was never truly a choice—not for a second. The way her experience is mirrored in her relationship with her own mother adds a rare, aching depth. The unnatural course of events forces her to reflect on that connection, exposing a vulnerability that’s hard to look away from.

My need for my mother felt as mighty as my need for my motherhood, for my daughter.

In preparing to become a mother, she also begins to reject the childlike dependency she still carries—They say it takes most babies seven months to understand themselves as individuals separate from their mothers; it took me thirty years. There's something profoundly unsettling in how she is forced to grow into both roles—mother and daughter—at once. And still, she does not reconcile with fate. There’s no neat resolution, no acceptance. The sad, imperfect symmetry of our motherhoods; our desperation to save each of our daughters from ‘demise.’ I felt a pang of jealousy that she had a daughter who could still live. That quiet admission breaks something open. It’s not bitterness, but something more brutal—grief in its most human, unfiltered form.

And then, there is Simone. Somewhere along the way, she stops being just a name or a loss and becomes a presence—an independent character in the story. Not an idea, not a metaphor, not a lesson. A person. Someone whose absence is so vividly drawn that it becomes its own kind of presence. The most generous, unflinching moment comes when the author gives us this line: When you are ready to hear this, I want you to try to focus not on mourning your motherhood. It is not your motherhood that you’ve lost. You’re mourning Simone, just Simone.

That, to me, is the heart of the memoir. And all we can really do is thank Lauren Christensen for allowing us to witness it.

[Courtney · Rating 4 out of 5]

I usually find myself especially drawn to grief memoirs because I’m such a closed-off person. These emotions are in me, of course, but they are walled off behind a rather impenetrable forcefield—ask my therapist! So, when I come across books as beautiful as this one, that really lets the reader have it when it comes to the complexities of maternal healthcare, motherhood (however brief), and the lingering effects of unresolved familial trauma, I can’t help but feel like I’m touching the surface of the sun here.

“Brave” doesn’t even begin to describe a book like this one. “Honest” is the palest description. Firstborn is, of course, both these things and so much more, but this is a memoir that makes you remember those you only briefly met. Baby Simone and her extraordinarily short life on earth will stay with me for quite some time. Gong Gong’s sweetest and most loving disposition to his family made me ache for my grandfather in a way I haven’t really—hello, impenetrable emotional forcefield—since 1999, when he passed.

Look, the subject matter in Firstborn can be excruciating, and let’s be honest: It’s not like we’re all itching for more doom-and-gloom in our lives right now. And while the doom of this is certainly here, Lauren Christensen’s sharp and clear retelling is counterweighted with all the love and support of her husband, family, and friends. This is someone who is clearly loved in her community, and while that may be a small consolation given such loss, it’s really something—and such a remarkable testament to the human spirit.

[Melissa · Rating 5 out of 5]

𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑵 𝒃𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒏, graciously provided to me by @penguinpress and published March 18th.

This is not an easy read, as it is about losing a very wanted child before she is born. There is much emotion and reflection packed into this book, and I feel honored to have read such an intimate experience.

Lauren shares about her pregnancy journey along with memories about how she met her husband and came to this place in their relationship, as well as the effects she notes of his loss in this story. She also ruminates on how her childhood has shaped her ideas of motherhood, and how to go on when death happens before birth.

This is an important story to know regarding the current culture of women's healthcare and the real effects of laws (though that is definitely not heavily discussed). It is also important to understand the grueling choices that are not made lightly. The added nuances of her particular situations give such light to the fact that blanket opinions are rarely helpful.

I know so many who have had to make choices like this, and to those of you, while this may be a topic too dear, know you are not alone. I am in awe of Christensen's bravery to share her beautiful story.

[Kelly · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very powerful and vulnerable memoir! This was a book that caught my eye at the library and I'm glad I picked it up. I thought Christensen did an incredible job intertwining her experiences of grief in regard to losing her grandfather in conjunction to the inexplicable grief of losing her child. There were many passages related to reflections on Christensen's grandfather's body and being that really tied poignantly to her own child later on.

Passages depicting the relationship between Christensen and her mother also really shined. It was very impactful when Christensen described, "The sad, imperfect symmetry of our motherhoods; our desperation to save each of our daughters from 'demise.' I felt a pang of jealousy that she had a daughter who could still live" (120). I appreciated seeing glimpses into both the highs and lows of this mother-daughter relationship and also thought the photos of Christensen's mother and grandmother birth experiences at the beginning of the book was a lovely touch.

This memoir depicted the complexities of reproductive realities and decisions no one would want to face. I appreciated her honesty and vulnerability in sharing.

It's fun to now be able to recognize Christensen when I spot her name on a NYT Book Review.

[Alanna Smith · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was beautiful and sad. Christensen is a gifted writer. It's weird to read about people having babies who don't seem to worry about finances at all-- what world do they live in? But about halfway through, you realize that there is a huge price to all that affluence, so maybe it's not worth it after all. (At least, that's what I tell myself, having chosen the path wherein I'm there for my kids, but we are definitely poorer for that decision.)

I hated how abortion was pushed on Christensen. Even reading about it made me recoil inside. I'm not saying it was the wrong choice, just that I hate that it's even a thing. What a horrible decision to have to make. What a horrible thing to have to live through at all.

Reading the back flap and knowing that the author went on to have another child made me at least be able to breathe again for her, even if that child could never replace the baby she lost.

P.S. On a much less serious note, I appreciated when she mentioned a friend bringing cookies the size of scones and how I IMMEDIATELY knew they were from Levain bakery, even before she said that their flavors were chocolate-chocolate chip, chocolate-peanut butter chip, chocolate chip, and oatmeal raisin. I may not be a New Yorker, but I know Levain!!!

[Yiwen · Rating 5 out of 5]

I wish I had Lauren’s talent to put the whole story together. Feel grateful someone speaks the words on my lips.
Very similar experience, only one year apart. Lost our firstborn in 20+ weeks with guilty, anguish, sadness, furies and confusions. Had the same hard time to find a reliable clinic taking the termination and induction procedure. Glad we both have our rainbow boys in hand.

Born in the same year, at our age in early thirties, it might be relatively easy to handle the pass of senior family members, but almost impossible to process the loss of our unborn child. Let alone unwillingly making the decision to stop their heartbeats and then deliver the baby in the same way every lucky mom would do with their healthy newborns. You came into the delivery room only to go home with empty arms and swelling breasts. This is a pain no one else would understand, an absolution which will next come.

There are some other similarities in our lives, from Asian family, lived in NYC for quite a while, choosing Brooklyn as home, with close connection in architecture designing world.

[Rachel Hamilton · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thank you so much to Penguin Press for this ARC. ☺️ Firstborn comes out on March 18th!

TW: infant loss

This was a beautifully written memoir that tells a very tragic story about child loss. This memoir is so important. While it was a difficult read at times, this is a story that needs to be shared. There is such a stigma surrounding miscarriage, stillbirth, and abortion, and a lot of times these testimonies aren’t shared with those that need it most. Christensen gives us such a raw account of the grieving process and how deeply loss affects us. “Firstborn”  also showcases the issues surrounding abortion restrictions within the US, and how unfair it is that women have to travel miles and several states just to receive the life saving care they need. This is so prevalent and vital, especially with what is currently happening in this country. Christensen is able to honor her daughter, Simone, and really vocalize how much she meant to her by sharing her story.

[Christina · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had a similar experience to Lauren a few years ago also at 22 weeks, and struggled with all the feelings involved. It was the worst time of my life, and I still think about it most days. I felt some comfort in it and the discussion of before and during the birth were touching, even understanding the complacency of not arguing when the nurse took her baby away, (shock?) but felt like I guess having a similar experience, I wanted to hear more of the after - talking about puzzles and bagels didn’t go deep enough for me, I was curious about how it came up for her weeks later - maybe returning to work, the anniversary, etc. how she dealt more with the grief. At the acknowledgment and author bio it shows she goes on to have a son, and while this is a memoir about her firstborn, I would love even in a followup article some time for her to detail what going through her next pregnancy was like, and meeting and getting to know her son in a way she didn’t get to with Simone.

[Cheryl Klein · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nothing made me miss my mom more than losing a pregnancy; Christensen captures the anxiety and grief around motherhood, and the ways that being a mom and being a daughter collapse in on each other like a kind of black hole: “My need for my mother felt as mighty as my need for motherhood, for my daughter.”

I bawled my eyeballs out reading this book. Christensen's experience of having to end a doomed pregnancy and grieve her beloved daughter at 22 weeks is objectively more harrowing than my own early miscarriage, but reading about it was triggering in the most cathartic sense. Losing a baby who has never lived outside your body is such a particular, and lonely, and common experience. I am glad this book is in the world.

[Bryan Fox · Rating 3 out of 5]

Clearly this was a cathartic writing experience for the author, as she recounts in painstaking detail the series of events which led to her losing what would have been her firstborn child due to a very uncommon, but fatal, fetal disorder. However, the descriptions of the ordeal are recounted in such detail that, paradoxically, it takes something away from the emotional effect of the book. This is not an evaluation of the author's experience, which I, as a childless man, could not purport to imagine. It is purely an evaluation on the literary quality of the work. I'm sure this memoir would be quite valuable and utterly relatable to couple who suffered through a similar experience. But as a book, it just doesn't read all that well.

[Iris (Yi Youn) Kim · Rating 4 out of 5]

a short and sometimes very straightforward but powerful memoir about devastating child loss during a time of increasing abortion restrictions. christensen has a very conversational style of writing that then presents an interesting contrast to her imagery/metaphors. i was intrigued by the few times that she mentions her privilege both in the context of how easily she's able to connect to the best doctors in the country and also the Global North context of her positionality and access to medicine. i appreciated her situating her privilege but then it also drew attention to the fact that she'd barely acknowledged her privilege at all.

[C · Rating 2 out of 5]

Two truths can exist simultaneously: this is a v. sad story and not a good book. Christensen strains to stretch her experience with the devastating death of her daughter, Simone, across 190 pages, relying on diary-like chapters of flat prose that list dozens of peoples' names we will never hear from again and many foods that she either did or did not eat secondary to nausea. Not every trauma narrative succeeds as a memoir, even if you happen to be an editor for the New York Times Book Review. I recommend Elizabeth McCracken's heartbreaking and beautifully crafted An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination (quoted and clearly admired by Christensen!) instead.

[Kendra · Rating 5 out of 5]

Heart wrenching, moving, and stunningly written. I sobbed for a good 80% of this book. The crux of the piece is the author’s loss of her baby mid pregnancy and the winding path of joy and despair from falling in love and embarking on the journey towards motherhood to navigating a postpartum existence without the child she wanted and loved and the life she imagined with her. As we follow the progression of this nexus of tragedy in the author’s life, we see interwoven recollections of trauma and loss from her own childhood through the death of her child. This book is a poignant representation of love, loss, grief, and survival. An absolutely devastating yet extraordinary read.

[Judith · Rating 4 out of 5]

Whew, rough read. A memoir about infant loss, sparingly and wrenchingly told. I’m always excavating memoirs for ideas on how people survive loss, how they absorb it and move on. What I’m learning is that they just have to carry it. Writer Lauren and her husband deliver their baby Simone at 21 weeks after a terminal diagnosis—and this book is solely about those few weeks, with a few nods to the past to give context. My only complaint is that I could have used more “after…” more delving into the moving forwards after the event. Maybe a sequel is coming. This was a tough read but really resonated.