As her older sister, I already had two healthy children. Her first pregnancy ended when she started to bleed at 30 weeks. It was placenta previa but the doctors tried to keep the baby in utero. He died and she had to endure the birth process knowing that she was not delivering a live baby.
I don't think she even saw him. He was not named, nor given a funeral. His remains were taken care of by the hospital, along with all of the other medical waste. She was told to go home and prepare for a second pregnancy.
Her second baby was also premature, delivered at 28 weeks but she survived although she stopped breathing three times. She was baptised in the humicrib by a catholic priest. The nurses took the leftover holy water and added it to the humicrib water. I thought this to be quite superstitious but I was glad that they did it. I visited the hospital and was allowed to look at my tiny niece in the nursery on the other side of a glass window. I could not pray. Atheists have nothing and no-one to pray to. I stood at the window with all of my fingers crossed and muttered "Hang in there, Kiddo". Pathetic really, but God hears even prayers as roughly constructed as mine was.
Later I heard that the students of a local Catholic school were praying for my sister and the baby. I was grateful but still thought that prayers are wasted effort.
Paradoxically, while still a convinced atheist, I applied for and secured a position in that same school as a maths/science teacher. Don't tell me that this was just a co-incidence. It was in my second year at this school that I went on the in-service that I described elsewhere. I stayed at that school for the next 25 years of my life, and my previous emptiness was filled with something that has sustained me ever since. It is called Love, with a capital L.