When Kristen Taormina sat on the exam table staring at the ultrasound screen, she could tell something was different. The doctor paused, squinting at the image, then looked up and said the words that would flip her world upside down: There are three. Her mind raced through wild guesses, three what, three problems, three heartbeats? The answer came like thunder. Three babies. Triplets.
For years, she and her husband had dreamed about a family, the kind of dream that starts young and feels like destiny. They were high school sweethearts who believed love would make everything fall into place. But life rarely sticks to the plan. Kristen tried everything—ovulation kits, medications, endless doctor visits, and nothing worked. Each month became another round of disappointment, another reminder that sometimes hope can be exhausting.
When the doctor finally diagnosed her with “unexplained infertility,” it felt like a cruel joke. How could something be both so real and so unexplainable? Every test came back fine, yet every pregnancy test came back blank. The process wasn’t just physical, it was emotional quicksand. Friends announced pregnancies and posted baby photos, and though she smiled, a part of her quietly broke each time. Kristen’s faith had always been the steady pulse of her life. As a baby, she had already beaten impossible odds. Born two months early with a hole in her heart and lungs that barely worked, doctors told her parents she wouldn’t survive the night. Her father had placed a trembling hand on her forehead and prayed for healing. And somehow, she lived. So when infertility tried to write another tragic story years later, Kristen made her own deal with God.
She promised that if He let her get pregnant, she would read the Bible cover to cover in a year. No shortcuts, no skipped chapters. It wasn’t a bargain born of superstition, but of desperation and faith mixed together like saltwater and tears. Then, three weeks after what she believed would be her last fertility attempt before starting IVF, she felt something different. She didn’t even need the test, but she took one anyway. The tiny screen flashed a word she had waited years to see: pregnant.
Her joy was overwhelming, but as it turned out, that was only the beginning of the miracle. At her next ultrasound, she watched her doctor’s expression shift from calm to curious to amazed. That’s when he said it. There are three. Kristen’s husband jumped out of his chair, cheering like he’d just won the heavyweight title, while she sat frozen, trying to wrap her mind around the math. The doctor quickly shifted from celebration to caution. He listed the complications, the bed rest, and the risk of premature labor. He even mentioned that they could “reduce” the number of babies. That word hit like a slap. Reduce. Kristen didn’t hesitate. She told him all three were meant to be here, and she wouldn’t decide who stayed and who didn’t.
Still, fear crept in on the drive home. What if her body couldn’t handle it? What if she wasn’t strong enough? She cried, not from joy this time, but from the crushing weight of uncertainty. Then came the bleeding, a red wave of terror. On her living room floor, she fell to her knees, praying through sobs, asking God to forgive her doubt and to protect her babies. Something inside her shifted that night. She circled September 25 on her Bible chart and decided to make it there.
And she did. Against every prediction, her pregnancy was flawless. No bed rest, no complications, no hospital scares. On September 25, at 3 a.m.—yes, three in the morning—her water broke naturally. The symbolism wasn’t lost on her. They drove 33 miles to the hospital, parked on level three, and went to the third floor. Minutes later, three healthy babies entered the world. Baby A at 5:47 a.m., Baby B at 5:50, and Baby C at 5:51. None needed the NICU. Not for a second. Nurses and doctors came by just to see the “non-NICU triplets,” a sight almost unheard of. It was as if the universe had aligned in threes to remind Kristen that faith, when mixed with persistence, can bend the rules of what’s possible.
Later, another doctor remarked that her body wasn’t designed to carry triplets. Kristen smiled and said deep down what she already knew—that God had intended her for precisely this. Her story isn’t neat or perfectly explained; it’s messy, miraculous, and full of numbers that seem too poetic to be a coincidence. But for Kristen, it isn’t about numbers. It’s about faith kept, promises honored, and three tiny heartbeats that turned doubt into wonder.
