Page 123 of Seven of Hearts

I followed the nurse into the operating room and sat down on the stool beside Leah’s head.

“Hi,” she croaked with tears in her eyes.

The operating room was a flurry of activity and final checks as I settled in and rested my forehead on hers. “You ready for this, honeybee?”

“Ready. Scared. Overwhelmed. Excited.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for being here.”

“I would have been with you while you were in pre-op and anesthesia if they had let me.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I did okay, though. I didn’t pass out. The nurse was great. She let me hug her while they did it.”

I couldn’t help but smile beneath the surgical mask. “I’m so proud of you. You’re so strong.”

“I just kept thinking about that turkey sandwich,” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

I chuckled. “Kylie is on turkey sandwich duty. I texted her your order before they had me get into my scrubs.”

“Really?” she said with barely restrained excitement. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Well, if a turkey sandwich is all I needed to get to make you happy, then I’ll take your present back.”

Her eyes widened. “I get a present? When can I open it?”

“As soon as they get the three of us in a room.” I took her hand in mine and laced our fingers together.

The anesthesiologist went through a series of tests to make sure Leah was completely numb.

“All right, Leah,” her obstetrician said from the other side of the blue drape that bisected Leah’s body. “We’re going to start your cesarean now. You might feel some pressure. You might feel some movement. But we don’t want you in any pain. If you start to feel anything, speak up or give Logan’s hand a squeeze and have him tell us.”

“You ready?” I asked her quietly.

Leah nodded. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

The surgical team chatted away, giving quick updates about where they were in the procedure, but all I could do was look at her.

Leah’s eyes were closed, and her breathing was steady as she invoked a supernatural calm.

I kept my forehead on hers, whispering gentle reassurances that she was doing great while I stroked my thumb over the back of her hand. Time moved at a snail’s pace, and every sound from the surgical team was met with the question of if it was normal or not.

“Are you ready, Mom?” her obstetrician called out.

Leah’s eyes snapped open. “He’s here?”

The next thirty seconds might as well have been thirty days.

“Keep breathing for me,” I whispered as I squeezed her hand. “You’re almost through it.”

“Can you see him?” Leah stammered.

“Not yet. But everything’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re doing great.”

“11:14AM,” someone said as they called the time.

Leah’s breathing hitched. “That means . . .”

We waited with bated breath until a distinct, rattling cry filled the operating room, drowning out the steady beeping of the monitors.

“Baby boy is doing great,” the obstetrician said. “Dad, I want you to open the front of Mom’s gown so we can get him on her chest as soon as the peds team gives us the green light.”

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