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When Heather and Riley Delaney found out they were expecting twins, they reacted the way many hopeful parents do—laughing, crying, and imagining the future in bursts of color and joy. They pictured two cribs side by side, matching outfits, the kind of chaotic, beautiful life that only twins can bring.
But ten weeks into the pregnancy, during a routine ultrasound, the room fell quiet. The kind of quiet that sticks to your bones.
The doctor paused before speaking. She pointed gently to the monitor. The twins were not developing separately.
The girls were craniopagus twins—conjoined at the top of the head, sharing bone and blood vessels, and in rare cases, brain tissue. This condition is so uncommon that it occurs in about 1 in every 2.5 million live births, and only about 2% of conjoined twins are connected this way.
Heather and Riley listened, holding each other’s hands so tightly their knuckles turned white. They were told the pregnancy would be risky. They were told the birth would be complicated. They were told that even if the babies survived, separation might not be possible.
But the Delaneys didn’t walk away.
“We knew they were ours,” Heather later said. “And we were going to fight for them, no matter how hard it got.”
The Arrival of Two Miracles
On July 24, 2016, Erin and Abby were born by C-section in North Carolina. They weighed just four pounds each.
Imagine holding not just one fragile newborn, but two—connected at the skull, tiny heads resting together like a single shared star.
Nurses moved gently. Doctors spoke softly. Their parents whispered to them like prayers.
Heather and Riley could not hold their daughters the way most new parents do. No chest-to-chest newborn moment. No rocking one to sleep while the other cried.
Every touch required planning. Every cuddle required assistance.
But love has never needed perfect circumstances.
Heather would place her hands on both girls at once, fingertips resting lightly on the warm curve of their shared connection.
A Hospital That Makes the Impossible Possible
The Delaneys searched for the one place known to have separated more conjoined twins than any hospital in the United States:
The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP).
For decades, CHOP’s neurosurgeons and plastic surgeons have pioneered surgical techniques that allow babies like Erin and Abby not only to survive—but to live full lives.
The Delaneys relocated to Philadelphia, leaving behind their home, their routines, and every certainty except the love that had led them here.
The twins spent nearly a year in CHOP’s care before doctors attempted separation.
Their team included:
Neurosurgeons
Plastic and reconstructive surgeons
Pediatric anesthesiologists
Intensive care specialists
Nurses who learned every curve of their breathing patterns
This wasn’t just medicine.
This was devotion.
Preparing for the Impossible
Before surgery could happen, something extraordinary had to occur—their skulls needed to be gradually molded so separation would be possible.
Doctors used custom medical devices and imaging to map the girls’ shared blood vessels, determining exactly which parts belonged to Erin and which belonged to Abby.
This planning took months.
Their parents watched. Waited. Hoped.
Riley often said, “We didn’t get to decide how their life started. But we will fight like hell to give them the chance to decide where it goes.”
The Day That Changed Everything
On June 6, 2017, when the twins were ten months old, more than 30 medical professionals gathered in the operating room at CHOP.
The surgery took 11 hours.
Eleven hours of steady hands. Eleven hours of silence and concentration. Eleven hours where one mistake could change everything.
The twins were carefully separated—bone by bone, blood vessel by blood vessel.
And then finally:
Two heartbeats. Two bodies. Two lives—independent, whole, extraordinary.
Recovery, Resilience, and Growing Up
Recovery was not simple. It was long. It was painful. It was filled with physical therapy, feeding therapy, surgeries to help their skulls form properly, and countless nights spent in hospital rooms filled with soft machine beeping.
But slowly, they began to thrive.
Their first smiles as separate people were quiet miracles. Their first laughs were celebrations. Their first time sitting up on their own—Heather cried so hard she had to sit down.
The girls grew. They learned. They played.
They danced to music. They reached for toys independently. They listened to books. They knew their parents’ voices instantly.
Heather said, “They are just like any other kids who went through something big. It’s part of them, but it isn’t all of them.”
Where They Are Today
As of the most recent updates shared publicly, Erin and Abby continue to make progress. They attend therapies. They enjoy being outside. They love colors and music. They have different personalities—just like any twins.
Erin is bold, lively, curious. Abby is thoughtful, observant, imaginative.
Their parents call them miracles—but not because of how they were born.
Because of how they live.
What This Story Reminds Us
Most of us spend our lives searching for something to believe in. Something bigger than ourselves. Something that tells us the world is still full of wonder.
The story of the Delaney family does not deny hardship, fear, or uncertainty. It simply shows what can happen when love refuses to quit.
Two little girls who began life sharing one world now get to shape their own.
And we are better, softer, more hopeful people for witnessing it.
Watch the amazing video below: