I waited.
Nothing.
Panic climbed into my throat.
“He was moving before.”
“Okay. Babies can get quiet during contractions.”
“I know.”
I had read everything.
Too much.
Pregnancy books.
Medical websites.
Birth classes.
My doctor’s handouts.
None of it felt useful now.
The planner pulled her phone from beneath her blouse.
I almost cried from relief.
“Call 911.”
“I already did.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
She looked toward the ceiling.
“My phone has no signal in this room.”
I grabbed it.
No bars.
I wanted to scream.
“But I activated the venue’s emergency app before she took my main phone.”
“You have two phones?”
“Work phone and personal.”
“Does the app call anyone?”
“It uploads an emergency file to the security cloud and sends the venue location to the monitoring service.”
“Does it call 911?”
“It should.”
“Should?”
“I’ve never used it.”
Another contraction.
I clenched my teeth.
The planner took my hand.
“Breathe.”
I did.
Poorly.
The contraction passed.
Sweat ran down my back despite the refrigerated air.
“What did you hear?”
She looked away.
“What did she say?”
The planner’s hand moved toward her phone.
“I recorded it.”
My stomach seemed to drop independently of the baby.
“Recorded what?”
She unlocked the phone.
“I need you to understand something first.”
“No. Play it.”
“She didn’t decide to lock you in here after your water broke.”
I stared.
“What?”
The planner swallowed.
“She planned it.”
The room became completely still.
Outside, applause rose through the walls.
The ceremony had started.
I whispered, “Play it.”
She hesitated.
“Play it.”
She touched the screen.
The audio began with the sound of dishes and distant music.
Then my mother-in-law’s voice.
Clear.
Controlled.
Not drunk.
Not panicked.
Prepared.
“If she starts anything before the ceremony, move her through the west service corridor.”
A man’s voice answered.
“Starts what?”
“Labor. A panic attack. Whatever she decides will make people look at her.”
My throat closed.
The planner’s recorded voice said, “She is thirty-seven weeks pregnant. If her water breaks, we call emergency services.”
My mother-in-law laughed.
“No ambulances outside until after my daughter finishes her vows.”
Another voice.
Male.
Venue security.
“Ma’am, we can’t prevent medical treatment.”
“I am not asking you to prevent anything. I am asking you to keep a hysterical woman somewhere private for ten minutes.”
The planner said, “That could be dangerous.”
My mother-in-law replied, “The baby has survived nine months inside her. It can survive ten more minutes.”
I covered my mouth.
The recording continued.