“I will.”
He studied my face.
Matthew knew I sometimes minimized pain. He also knew what happened whenever he confronted my family directly. Diane accused him of turning me against them, Claire cried, Robert asked everyone to calm down, and I spent days feeling responsible for a conflict I had not started.
Matthew touched my arm gently.
“One message,” he said. “That’s all it takes. I’ll come immediately.”
“I know.”
“Even if your mother says you’re fine.”
I gave him the small reassuring smile I had perfected years earlier.
“I’ll call you.”
Diane appeared behind him before I could say anything else.
“The guests are being seated,” she announced. “Matthew, you need to go downstairs. Evelyn has to help Claire with the final preparations.”
“She needs to sit down.”
“She has been sitting down.”
“I was sitting down,” I said.
Matthew looked at me instead of Diane. He clearly wanted to argue, but I nodded toward the ballroom.
“I’m okay. Go find your seat.”
He reluctantly left.
Claire emerged from behind a dressing screen a few minutes later. Her gown was perfectly fitted, her blond hair pinned beneath a delicate veil. She looked beautiful, but the first thing she noticed was me leaning against a table.
“You’re not going to disappear on me, are you?” she asked.
“I’m right here.”
“Mom said pregnancy can make things unpredictable.”
She was not asking whether I felt well.
She was asking whether my body intended to inconvenience her.
“If something happens, I’ll tell you.”
“I only need you to make it through the ceremony,” Claire said. “You can rest afterward.”
Diane heard her. Instead of correcting her, she checked the schedule.
“Forty minutes,” she announced. “Everyone needs to stay focused.”
The first real contraction began before she finished the sentence.
It started as a tightening beneath my ribs and moved downward until it felt as though a steel band had closed around my abdomen. I gripped the edge of the table.
For several seconds, I could not speak.
When the pressure released, I tried to tell myself it was another practice contraction. I had experienced them before, and they had always faded.
Then warmth ran down the inside of my leg.
I looked at the floor.
A clear patch darkened the fabric of my dress. When I touched my thigh, I saw a thin streak of blood on my fingers.
My doctor’s warning returned with perfect clarity.
Bleeding.
Fluid loss.
Leave immediately.
I reached for my phone.
Diane caught my wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“I need Matthew.”
Her gaze moved from my face to the damp fabric and then to the blood on my hand.
She understood exactly what she was seeing.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Another contraction struck before I could answer. I bent forward and breathed through it, gripping the table until my fingers hurt.
This one was stronger.
When it eased, my hands were trembling.
“I need to go to the hospital.”
Claire’s face drained of color.
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“But the ceremony starts in forty minutes.”
I stared at her.
For one brief second, she looked ashamed.
Then she turned toward our mother.
Diane’s expression changed into the calm, controlled mask she wore whenever reality refused to follow her schedule.
“We are not bringing an ambulance through a lobby full of guests,” she said.
“I didn’t say anything about an ambulance. I’m calling Matthew.”
“If he comes rushing back here, everyone will know something is wrong.”
“Something is wrong.”
“Lower your voice.”
Even while I was frightened and in pain, that familiar command worked on me.
I lowered my voice.
Diane placed a hand on my shoulder.
“There’s a quiet room down the service corridor,” she said. “You can sit there while I contact Matthew. We’ll take you out through the side entrance without frightening Claire or alarming two hundred guests.”
I should have refused.
I should have called Matthew before moving another step.
But Diane had controlled every family crisis I could remember. Even when I disagreed with her methods, some part of me still believed she would never knowingly place me in physical danger.
I allowed her to lead me from the bridal room.
Claire remained beside the mirror, one hand pressed against the front of her wedding dress.
She did not follow us.