Then Chloe glanced over. Her eyes landed on me like I was something someone tracked in on their shoe.
“Oh, you’re here.”
That was it.
I set my bag down by the wall. “Yeah. Got leave.”
She frowned slightly, like I’d just told her I brought bad weather with me.
Today.
I almost laughed. Almost.
“Didn’t realize I needed to schedule it around your fittings.”
She didn’t take the joke. Of course she didn’t.
“Can you not do this today?” she said, turning back to the mirror. “Everything’s already chaotic.”
My mom finally looked at me. Not concerned. Just irritated.
“Elena, honey, you could have at least called. We have a full house.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I can see that.”
No one asked why I was pale, or why I was standing stiff like every muscle was locked in place, or why I hadn’t put my bag down properly. Because none of that mattered.
Chloe mattered.
Her dress mattered.
Her wedding mattered.
I picked up my bag again and moved it out of the way against the wall, like I was just another piece of furniture trying not to block traffic.
“Actually,” Chloe said, snapping her fingers like she just remembered something. “Since you’re here, you can help.”
“Of course. With what?”
She gestured toward a stack of boxes near the hallway. “Those need to go upstairs. Shoes, accessories, some of the gifts that came early. Just don’t mess anything up.”
I looked at the boxes, then at her, then back at the boxes.
“Sure,” I said, because saying no would have turned into a whole scene, and I didn’t have the energy for that. Not today.
I grabbed the first box. It wasn’t heavy. Not really. But the moment I lifted it, something inside me shifted in a way it wasn’t supposed to. A sharp pull. Deep.
I ignored it.
Walked up the stairs, set the box down, came back for another. By the third trip, the pain wasn’t subtle anymore. It was spreading, tightening, like something inside me was slowly tearing open again.
I paused at the bottom of the stairs, hand pressing lightly against my side.
“Are you seriously taking breaks already?”
Chloe’s voice cut through the room.
I looked up. She was watching me now, not with concern, but with annoyance.
“I just got here,” I said.
“And you’re already acting like you’re dying,” she replied. “Can you not be dramatic for five minutes?”
I almost said something. Something sharp. Something honest.
Instead, I picked up the next box.
Halfway up the stairs, my vision blurred. Not fully. Just enough to make the edges of everything feel off. I blinked hard, kept moving, set the box down, turned to go back.
That’s when it hit.
Not like a sharp stab. Not sudden. Worse.
A slow, heavy drop inside my body, like something gave way.
My grip on the railing tightened. I made it down three steps before my legs stopped cooperating. The world tilted. I caught myself against the wall, breathing shallow and fast. Cold sweat broke across my back.
“Chloe,” I said, voice lower than I expected. “I think something’s wrong.”
She didn’t move right away. Just looked at me like she was trying to decide if this was worth her attention.
“What now?” she sighed.
“I need…” I swallowed. “I need to sit down.”
“You’ve been here for what, ten minutes?” she said. “You’re unbelievable.”
My knees buckled before I could respond.
I didn’t hit the ground hard. More like folded into it.
The room got quiet for a second, not out of concern, but out of confusion.
“Are you serious right now?” Chloe said, walking over, heels clicking against the floor.
I tried to focus on her face. It kept shifting.
“I think I need a hospital,” I said.
That got a reaction. Not panic. Annoyance.
“Of course you do,” she muttered, already grabbing her keys. “Because today wasn’t complicated enough.”
My mom stepped closer, but didn’t kneel down. Didn’t check anything.
“Is she okay?” she asked Chloe.
Not me.
“She’s fine,” Chloe said. “Just being her usual self.”
I wanted to argue. Didn’t have the breath.
Chloe grabbed my arm—not gently—and pulled me up enough to get me moving.
“Come on. Let’s go before you pass out for real and ruin everything.”
That part stuck with me.
Ruin everything.
Like I was the problem. Not the blood soaking through the bandage under my jacket. Not the fact that I could barely feel my hands.
We got to the car somehow. I don’t remember walking all the way there. I remember the passenger door opening. I remember the seat hitting the back of my legs. I remember Chloe slamming the door harder than necessary.
She started driving before I even had the seat belt on.
“You better not make a scene at the hospital,” she said, eyes on the road. “I don’t have time for this.”
I leaned my head back. Everything felt distant. Muted.
“I’m not trying to make a scene,” I said quietly.
“Yeah, well, that’s all you ever do,” she replied. “Every time something important happens for me, you suddenly have an issue.”
I let that sit there. Didn’t have the energy to fight it.
The hospital came into view faster than I expected. Bright lights. Full parking lot.
She pulled up to the entrance and stopped.
“Okay,” she said. “We’re here.”
I didn’t move. Not because I didn’t want to. Because my body didn’t respond.
She clicked her tongue, got out, came around, and yanked the door open.
“Don’t make me drag you,” she said.
“Too late for that.”
She half pulled, half supported me inside.
The ER was packed. People everywhere. Noise. Movement. A nurse looked up as we approached.
“Hi, what’s going on?” she asked.
Before I could answer, Chloe stepped in.
“She’s just being dramatic,” she said. “Probably anxiety or something.”
The nurse—Brenda, her name tag read—looked at me, not Chloe. Her expression shifted.
“Ma’am, can you tell me what you’re feeling?”
“Pain,” I managed. “Abdomen. Hard to breathe.”
Brenda’s posture changed instantly. Focused. Alert.
“Okay. We’re going to get you checked.”
Or—
Chloe cut in, pulling out her phone. “You could not rush her in like she’s dying. She does this. It’s attention-seeking.”
Brenda didn’t even look at her this time. She reached for a wheelchair.
Chloe stepped in front of it.
“Let her wait,” she said flatly. “It’s not urgent.”
Brenda’s eyes snapped up. “She doesn’t look stable,” she said.
Chloe shrugged. “She’s jealous. My wedding’s in two days. She always pulls something.”
I felt the room tilt again, voices fading.
Brenda hesitated. “Just for a second—”
Chloe leaned in slightly, lowering her voice, but not enough.
“She’s fine. Trust me.”
Then she turned to me, already stepping back.
“Sit here,” she said, guiding me toward a chair. “And don’t move.”
I dropped into it because I had no choice.
Chloe straightened her robe sleeve, checked her reflection in her phone, then looked at Brenda one more time.
“Seriously. Let her wait.”
And then she walked away. Right out the glass doors. Didn’t look back.
I watched her go until the doors closed behind her.
And for a second, I wondered if this was how it ended. Not in a firefight. Not on a classified mission. But in a waiting room. Because someone decided I wasn’t worth five minutes of urgency.
My vision started narrowing, breath getting shallow. The last thing I saw clearly was Brenda turning back toward me, her face no longer unsure.
Have you ever been so close to breaking and realized the people who should have saved you were the ones who walked away first?
The cold plastic of the ER chair dug into my back as my body started slipping somewhere I couldn’t follow. I tried to stay upright, tried to keep my eyes open, but everything kept narrowing like someone was slowly dimming the lights from the edges inward.
“Hey. Stay with me.”
Brenda’s voice cut through the noise.
I forced my head up. She was kneeling in front of me now, one hand on my wrist, checking my pulse. Her expression had changed. No more hesitation. Just focus.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Elena,” I said, barely getting it out.
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