Chapter 2
Glass still scattered across polished floor. Chandelier light caught broken stemware fragments near my feet, spilled liquid dark against wood. I stayed bent forward, hands gripping gold chiavari chair, breath shallow, bandana slipped low over forehead. My chest rose hard with each inhale. Room went quiet except distant clink of kitchen trays.
Maya moved first. Standing bridesmaid—light blue one-shoulder dress, light brown hair pulled up—hooked arm under my shoulder and pulled me back into chair. Her other hand clamped chair back, kept it from tipping. Her grip shook.
"Easy, easy," she whispered near my ear, breath quick. "Stay here. Don't put feet down. Glass everywhere."
She nudged my knees away from sharp edge, used foot to push larger shard aside. Her palm stayed firm on my forearm, protective. I felt weight of her body leaning against chair, anchoring me.
Bride stepped closer. Blonde low bun held tight, pearl earrings caught light, white sleeveless A-line gown brushed against chair leg. Arms stayed crossed, ring on left hand glinted. She did not reach for me. She leaned in, voice dropped low so guests behind would not hear.
"You need to move," she hissed, lips barely parted, eyes fixed on my bandana. "People taking photos. You can't be on floor like this. Go fix yourself in bathroom. Now."
Her whisper shook with restrained anger. She glanced toward photographer near floral arrangement, then back to me. Her mouth tightened.
I heard echo of earlier line still ringing in ears—You can't sit, it's my day—said loud enough for whole reception hall to hear at 9 second mark. Now her whisper demanded opposite: don't sit here, don't stay visible. Contradiction lodged sharp.
I stared at broken stemware. Legs felt heavy, cold sweat on neck, pale hands trembling. Standing meant stepping through glass, walking past staring guests, finding bathroom alone while breath still labored. Sitting meant defying bride in front of crowded hall.
Maya sensed hesitation, squeezed my arm harder.
"She stays seated," Maya said, louder, directed at bride, not me. "She can't walk through that."
Bride's jaw tightened, arms crossed tighter. "Maya, this hall costs thousands. My pictures—" She cut herself off, exhaled through nose, eyes slow, hard. "Fine. Keep her seated then. But keep her out of center."
I made choice. I pressed back into chair, slumped but upright, feet pulled up onto chair rung, away from glass. I nodded once, mostly to Maya. I would not leave floor. I would not give bride image she wanted at cost of my safety. My bandana slipped further, I tugged it straight with damp fingers, held chair edge again.
Venue manager approached then, navy vest over white shirt, clipboard tucked under arm. He crouched near broken glass, careful not to touch shards, looked first at me, then at bride, then at Maya.
"Ladies, what happened here?" he asked, voice even, professional. "Anyone hurt? Need cleanup? Need medical assistance?"
Guests in formal wear watched from background, murmurs rising, some phones lowered. White tablecloths, gold chairs, floral arrangements framed tense cluster.
Maya answered before bride could. "Glass broke when she jerked. She needs space, not crowd. Can we get broom, keep people back?"
May you like
Bride stepped back half step, still watching, arms crossed, mouth pursed. Manager nodded, signaled busboy near chandelier. Bride's eyes stayed on me, monitoring, waiting.
I kept breathing, hands locked on chair, Maya's hand over mine, glass glittering between us, decision to stay seated holding.
