Marcus drove me to my parents estate in Lake Oiggo. Their property sprawled across three acres with manicured gardens and a view of the lake.
“Growing up there, I’d always felt like I was living in a hotel. Beautiful, but impersonal.”
“Call me if you need anything,” Marcus said, kissing my forehead.
“I mean it,” Lauren.
“It’s just a few hours,” I assured him.
Though my stomach was turnurning with anxiety that had nothing to do with the pregnancy, Marcus helped me out of the car, his hand steady on my elbow. I waddled toward the garden where I could already see white tents and balloon arrangements. Staff members bustled around with trays and decorations. Patricia had clearly spared no expense.
My father appeared from the house looking uncomfortable in a polo shirt and khakis. Robert Mitchell was a tall man who’d spent his life in suits. Casual were seemed to pain him physically.
Lauren, he greeted, barely glancing at my enormous belly. Hannah is running late. You’ll need to wait by the side entrance.
Wait. I shifted my weight, feeling a sharp twinge in my lower back.
Dad, can I just sit down somewhere inside? My back is killing me.
Your mother wants everyone to arrive together, he said, already walking away. Just wait there.
The side entrance was a small covered area near the service entrance, away from the main event. There were no chairs. I stood there, one hand on my aching back, watching staff members rush past with floral arrangements and champagne flutes. 20 minutes passed, then 30. My feet were swelling in my shoes. The baby was pressing down on my bladder, and I desperately needed a bathroom. I waddled toward the main tent, thinking I could at least grab a chair, but Patricia materialized like a designer-dressed guardian blocking my path.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
“Mom, I really need to sit down. Can I just—”
Hannah isn’t here yet? Patricia cut me off, her voice sharp. We’re not starting anything until she arrives. Go back and wait where your father told you.
But I’m pregnant, I said, hating how my voice cracked. I’ve been standing for half an hour. Can’t I just sit somewhere while we wait?
Patricia’s expression hardened into something I’d seen a thousand times before. That particular look that said my needs were inconvenient. My presence was tolerated at best. No, we are still waiting for your sister. This is her day, Lauren. For once, try not to make everything about yourself.
The words hit like a slap. Make everything about myself? I’d spent my entire life shrinking into the background, accepting scraps of attention while Hannah basked in the spotlight. And now, 9 months pregnant and in pain. I was selfish for wanting to sit down.
I returned to the side entrance. Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. 45 minutes, an hour. My legs were trembling. Sharp pain shot through my pelvis with every small movement. The baby was heavy and low, and I knew from my prenatal classes that this late in pregnancy, any unusual discomfort should be taken seriously.
Finally, Hannah’s white Mercedes SUV pulled into the circular driveway. She emerged looking radiant in a flowing pink dress that perfectly showcased her six-month bump. Drew followed, carrying bags from expensive boutiques. Hannah was glowing, laughing without a care in the world.
Patricia rushed over, gathering Hannah in an embrace.
My darling girl, we’ve been waiting.
They walked right past me without acknowledgement. Hannah’s bump was neat and round, nowhere near the enormous, uncomfortable size of mine. She moved gracefully while I felt like a waddling, swollen mess. I followed them to the garden tent, each step agony. Guests had begun arriving. Friends of the family, cousins I barely knew, Hannah’s college friends. There must have been 60 people there.
A throne-like chair decorated with flowers sat at the center of the tent, clearly meant for Hannah. Patricia guided Hannah to the special chair. Hannah sat down with a grateful sigh, placing one hand on her belly with practiced elegance. Everyone cooed. Cameras flashed. My mother beamed like Hannah had just accomplished something extraordinary by simply existing.
I stood at the edge of the tent, shifting from foot to foot, searching for any available seat. There were chairs along the sides, but they were all occupied. A few people glanced at my enormous belly with concern, but nobody offered their seat. I made eye contact with my mother across the tent. She saw me standing there, saw my desperate discomfort.
Patricia’s eyes narrowed. She excused herself from Hannah’s admirers and marched over to me, gripping my elbow hard enough to bruise.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I need to sit down, Mom. Please, I’ve been standing for over an hour.”
You’re creating a scene, she whispered harshly. Everyone is staring because I can barely stand it out.
Patricia’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. You’re disrupting the environment. This is Hannah’s day, and you’re making it about your discomfort.
Leave.
The world tilted.
You want me to leave? I’m 9 months pregnant.
You heard me. Get out.
I stared at my mother, trying to find any trace of recognition, any acknowledgement that she was speaking to her daughter, her pregnant daughter who’d driven an hour to be here. There was nothing, just cold disdain. Something must have shown on my face because Patricia’s expression shifted to disgust. She placed her hand on my shoulder and shoved me backward.
I wasn’t expecting it. My center of gravity was already off from the pregnancy. My balance compromised. I stumbled, arms windmilling, trying to catch myself. My foot caught on the edge of the decorative stone border that lined the tent area. I fell hard. My hands instinctively went to protect my belly, but momentum carried me forward. The edge of the stone curve hit my stomach directly. Pain exploded through my abdomen, sharp and immediate and terrifying. I heard myself scream, a sound that didn’t seem human.
Liquid gushed between my legs. My water had broken, but there was too much liquid, and it was warm. And when I looked down, I saw red mixing with a clear fluid.
Blood, help, I gasped. Someone help me.
People were screaming now. I saw faces above me, distorted by my panic and pain. Another contraction, this one violent, tore through me. The baby was coming. 3 weeks early and coming fast.
Call 911. Someone shouted.
Through the chaos, I heard Patricia’s voice.
Shrill and panicked. What did she do? She’s ruining everything. Hannah, don’t look, sweetheart.
A contraction ripped through me, stronger than anything I’d experienced in prenatal classes. This wasn’t labor. This was emergency. The fall had triggered something catastrophic.
