I’ll never forget the terrifying moment I learned Lily had been in an accident. Time stopped—I feared I’d lost her.
At eleven, Lily went camping with friends. A propane tank and a moment of recklessness left her with a scar across her forehead, though thankfully her eyes were unharmed.
People stared at her scar in stores, and classmates taunted her at school. During a therapy visit, I realized Lily couldn’t continue the way things were—especially after I found her surrounded by broken mirror shards, sobbing, “I can’t look at it anymore.”
I began homeschooling her. It was hard, but it helped her heal. Years later she improved: still wearing bangs, but growing in confidence. Then I met Melissa. She treated Lily normally—no awkward glances, just kindness.
One evening, Melissa said, “She’s brave. You did a good job with her.” Those words meant more than I can say.
Later, we became engaged with Lily’s blessing and attended a 4th of July barbecue. Lily, in a light blue dress, let herself be seen—no hiding. That night, Melissa’s mother dropped a cruel comment about Lily’s scar. Lily, quietly but effortlessly, replied, “If you’re erasing things people don’t like, maybe Photoshop out your extra twenty pounds.”
Shockingly proud, I led Lily away while Melissa demanded an apology for her mother—something she refused. On the ride home, Lily said, “I can’t believe I said that.” And I said, “I wish I had.”
Later that evening, Melissa called. I told her plainly: I can’t be with someone who won’t stand up for my daughter.