Chapter 2
Renata's POV
The pain dropped me to my knees before I could grab anything.
It tore through my lower abdomen and spread through my whole body in waves.
I couldn't stand. I sank down onto the marble floor, the white silk pooling around me, and looked down at the blood soaking through the dress, running down my leg, spreading dark against the white.
I'd known for three weeks.
The ultrasound was still in my clutch. I'd planned to hand it to Declan right after the vows—the biggest surprise of the night, the real one. I'd pictured his face a hundred times.
I hadn't pictured this.
"Help—" I reached out toward the empty room. "Someone—please—"
Nobody. Every guest had followed Declan and Phoebe out those doors. The ballroom was silent except for the rain against the windows.
I got my phone out with shaking hands and called Declan.
Not available.
I called again. And again. Five times. The same mechanical voice every time.
I called my mother. She picked up.
"Mom, oh God, please—I'm bleeding. I'm still at The Plaza, I can't get up—"
"Renata." Her voice was low and tight. "Okay, you know what? Are you done? Phoebe is in the trauma room right now and we don't even know if she's going to make it, and you're calling me with this?"
"I'm not lying, Mom. There's blood everywhere, I can't stand up—I'm pregnant—"
"Pregnant." She laughed. One short, cold sound. "Right. So now you're bleeding and pregnant. To get Declan to come running back." A beat of silence. "Jesus Christ, Renata. How did I raise someone so cruel?"
She hung up.
I sat there with the phone in both hands and stared at nothing.
I bit down hard and called Sara.
"Sara, hey—hey, just listen to me for one second. I need you to call 911. I'm at The Plaza. I'm pregnant and I think I'm miscarrying and I can't get up off the floor—"
"Oh my God." Flat. Disgusted. "Are you seriously doing this right now? Phoebe just got out of emergency. Declan is a wreck. And you're pulling a pregnancy out of nowhere to—what, drag him back? Really?"
"Sara, I swear to God, I'm not faking—"
"I don't want to hear it. Don't call back until Phoebe is stable."
She hung up.
My phone slipped from my fingers and hit the marble. The screen cracked clean across.
I looked at the blood on my dress.
They weren't missing my calls. They just didn't care. There was a difference, and I understood it now with complete clarity, sitting alone on the floor of an empty ballroom.
I don't know how long I was there before the hotel cleaning lady came through the side door with her cart.
She saw me and screamed, then grabbed her phone and dialed 911.
Rain on my face as they loaded me onto the stretcher.
"Major hemorrhage—BP dropping fast—"
"Heart rate 130, let's move—"
A paramedic leaned over me. "Hey, stay with us, okay? We need an emergency contact. Is there someone we can call?"
My fiancé, my parents, my best friend—all of them were across the city right now, keeping watch over a girl who'd fainted on cue.
"There's a contact in my phone," I said. "Go ahead."
ER lights. Too bright. A doctor above me moving fast.
"Ruptured ectopic, she's hemorrhaging—we need to operate right now. Get her husband on the phone, I need consent—"
A nurse crouched beside me, holding my cracked phone. "Ma'am, your emergency contact is Declan Merritt. Should I call him?"
"Yeah. Go ahead."
The call connected. Speakerphone.
Declan's voice came through before she could say a word.
"Renata, are you kidding me right now—" Exhausted. Furious. "Phoebe just fell asleep. She finally just fell asleep. My phone has been going off all night because of you." He exhaled. "Look, she's fragile, okay? Her heart—"
He stopped.
"You know what, I'm done. The wedding is off. All of it. Don't call this number again."
He hung up.
The nurse lowered the phone slowly. The look on her face was the most sympathy anyone had shown me all night.
"It's okay," I said. "There's no one else."
"But ma'am—for the surgery, we need next of kin to sign the consent form—"
"Then give it to me. I'll sign it."
