Chapter 3 - Stairs, Lights, Siren
The tile went cold under my back. I could hear shoes gathering up on the landing, low voices, someone crying that wasn't me. I kept my hands locked over my belly and tried to breathe the way the nurse at the clinic taught me, in through the nose, out slow.
Julian was still kneeling by my shoulder. His bow tie had slipped sideways. He kept looking from me to the top of the stairs like he didn't know which way to stand.
"Don't move her," someone said from the doorway. "They're coming in."
The front doors swung open and cold air cut through the warm hall. Two paramedics came fast with a kit and a backboard, their radios crackling. The blue light from outside swept across the white floor and up the marble.
A woman knelt by my head. Late forties, hair tied under a cap. "Ma'am, I'm Dana. Can you tell me your name?"
"Elena," I said. "Elena Morales."
"How far along are you, Elena?"
"Twenty-six weeks."
She glanced down where my hands were. "Pain? Bleeding? Any fluid?"
"Pain here," I whispered. "Tight. And he — she isn't moving."
The man paramedic was already cutting open a blood pressure cuff around my arm. He looked at Julian. "Did someone see her fall?"
Julian opened his mouth. Before he could answer, Vanessa's voice cut in from the stairs.
"She slipped," she said. "These floors are slick when they mop them."
I turned my head. She was halfway down now, veil straight again, holding her skirt up with one hand. A woman in a black headset — the planner, I remembered her from the rehearsal — stood beside her with a clipboard pressed to her chest.
Dana didn't look up. She wrote on her tablet with a stylus. "Witnessed dispute over mechanism," she said out loud as she typed, for the record. "Patient states push. Second party states slip."
My throat tightened. At least she'd written it down.
They slid a strap under my knees and eased me onto the board. The movement sent a sharp pull through my abdomen and I gasped. Julian grabbed my hand.
"Easy," Dana said. "Elena, we're going to keep you flat. You did good staying still."
"Julian," I said. My voice sounded thin. "Please don't leave me."
He squeezed my fingers. His eyes were wet. "I'm here. I'm right here."
The planner leaned toward Vanessa and whispered, "We need to clear the hall for the stretcher. Guests are watching from the balcony."
Vanessa smoothed her veil with both hands, checking the edge in the reflection of the railing. "Tell everyone we're ten minutes behind," she said, calm now, like she was ordering flowers. "Tell them Elena had an accident. She slipped on the wet tile. We're taking care of her, and the ceremony will go on."
Accident. Slipped. The words landed hard in my chest.
I tried to lift my head. "That's not—"
"Save your breath, honey," Dana said gently, easing me back. "We're almost out."
They lifted me. The ceiling lights moved above me, warm bulbs mixed with that cold blue from the windows. I could see the wrought iron railing passing overhead, the chandelier, then the open doors and gray daylight.
Outside, the driveway was lined with parked cars and a white ambulance with its back doors open. A few early guests stood by a rented shuttle, staring.
Julian walked beside the stretcher, still holding my hand as they rolled me over the threshold. The planner touched his sleeve.
"Mr. Hale," she said quietly. "Your mother is asking if you want to delay the processional. The photographer needs a call."
He stopped. His hand slipped from mine as the paramedics kept moving.
May you like
"Go on," Vanessa called from the doorway. She hadn't followed us out. She stood framed in the warm light, veil perfect again. "I'll be in the suite. Come up when she's gone."
Dana climbed in beside me and started an IV. The cold bit my wrist. The siren gave one short chirp before we pulled away from the mansion, and through the back window I watched Julian standing on the steps in his tuxedo, caught between the doors and the driveway.
