Part 2 👇
The surgery took ten hours.
When I woke up, my forehead was wrapped in bandages and my right eye was swollen shut.
Elaina was in a chair beside me, one hand on her belly, one hand on mine.
“They got it,” she whispered. “All of it.”
Sixteen days later, at 3 a.m., my phone rang.
“It’s time,” Elaina said.
My stitches were still in. Half of my face was still purple and swollen.
The doctors said I should stay home and rest.
I didn’t listen.
I held her hand for eleven hours.
Then, at 2:14 in the afternoon, Stella was born.
The nurse placed her on my chest.
She was screaming. Red and tiny and perfect.
I was so afraid she would look at me and scream louder.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I sang to her. The same song I sang to Elaina’s belly every night.
She stopped crying.
She opened her eyes.
And she looked right at me.
Right at my swollen, scarred, crooked face.
Then her tiny hand wrapped around my finger and held on.
Elaina was crying. The nurse was crying. I couldn’t even see anymore.
Stella is five months old now.
My scar goes from my eyebrow almost to my hairline.
My right eyebrow doesn’t move.
But every night, when I sing to her, she reaches up and touches my scar with her little fingers.
And she smiles.
She has never been afraid of me. Not once.
To everyone who prayed for me that night… thank you.
I was the first face she saw.
If you believe a father’s love is the first thing a baby sees, please send Drew a ❤️