The planner’s voice became firmer.
“If anything happens to her, I will personally tell the family what you ordered.”
Silence.
Then my mother-in-law.
“You’re fired.”
The planner answered, “Fine.”
“Give me your radio.”
“No.”
There was movement.
Fabric.
Something striking a surface.
Then the mother-in-law said, “Put her in the supply room until the ceremony begins. I will deal with both of them afterward.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the phone.
My entire body felt cold.
“She knew.”
The planner nodded.
“She knew before my water broke.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She asked me this morning what the emergency plan was if you went into labor during the ceremony.”
My mind raced backward.
Breakfast.
My mother-in-law insisting I ride with her driver instead of my husband.
Her complaint that I was drinking too much water.
Her asking whether my contractions were “real” or Braxton Hicks.
Her repeatedly checking the time.
My husband had wanted me to stay home.
I had refused because his sister had personally asked me to come.
We were close despite everything.
She had been kinder to me than anyone else in his family.
I whispered, “Did my husband know?”
The planner’s expression changed.
That terrified me more than the recording.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I heard your mother-in-law talking to him earlier.”
I could barely breathe.
“What did she say?”
“She told him if you became overwhelmed, she would take you somewhere quiet so he wouldn’t have to leave the ceremony.”
“And?”
“He said…”
She stopped.
“Say it.”
“He said, ‘Just handle it. Today needs to be about my sister.’”
The words struck harder than the shove.
I turned away.
My husband.
The man who slept beside me.
The man who had spent the previous night with his hand on my belly because the baby had hiccups.
The man who kissed me that morning and told me to text him if I needed anything.
Just handle it.
Today needs to be about my sister.
The planner touched my arm.
“He may not have known she meant this.”
I laughed.
It came out broken.
“He always doesn’t know.”
“What?”
“He never knows.”
Every insult.
Every boundary crossed.
Every cruel remark.
He never knew it would become that bad.
Never knew his mother would actually follow through.
Never knew silence would encourage her.
Never knew because not knowing let him avoid choosing.
I suddenly felt movement.
Deep inside.
The baby shifted.
Relief almost knocked me over.
“There.”
“What?”
“He moved.”
The planner smiled.
“Good.”
Then the movement stopped.
Another contraction began.
This one felt different.
Lower.
Harder.
A crushing pressure pulled through my pelvis.
I cried out.
The planner steadied me.
“Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.”
“We need to get you off that chair.”
“Why?”