Chapter 3 - The Long Walk of Shame
The bridal suite emptied into the main corridor, which led directly through the grand foyer and past the double French doors of the grand ballroom. There was no secret exit; the estate had been designed for aesthetic pageantry, not medical emergencies.
As Mark carried me through the foyer, the whispers began.
Dozens of guests had spilled out of the ballroom, holding champagne flutes, their conversations instantly halting as Mark moved past them with long, desperate strides. My head rested against his shoulder, my hands clutching his lapels as another contraction racked my body, forcing a ragged groan from my throat.
"Someone call an ambulance!" a woman near the coat check called out.
"Already on their way! Five minutes out!" Leo shouted from behind us, following close with my coat and purse, which he had snatched right out of my mother's hands during the chaos.
Suddenly, my father stepped into our path near the grand entrance. Robert Bennett was an executive used to delegating disputes behind closed doors. He held his hands up, trying to project authority.
"Mark, stop. Put her down in the private lounge. We have a doctor among the guests—Dr. Harris from the country club. Let him examine her discreetly. If she leaves in a stretcher through the front gates, the entire reception is dead in the water. Think about Chloe’s reputation with Derek’s family!"
"Robert," Mark said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "if you don't step out of my way in the next two seconds, I will break your nose in front of every colleague you invited tonight."
My father looked into Mark’s eyes, blinked, and stepped aside.
Behind us, Chloe’s voice echoed down the marble hallway, shrill and unhinged. "Derek! Do something! Tell them they can't leave like this! They’re ruining everything!"
I turned my head slightly against Mark’s chest and caught sight of the groom. Derek, dressed in his custom tuxedo, was standing beside his parents near the entrance of the ballroom. His mother, an elegant, patrician woman, had one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with unvarnished disgust—not at me, but at Chloe. Derek looked at his bride as if seeing a complete stranger. When Chloe reached out to grab his sleeve, Derek subtly pulled his arm away.
The crisp night air hit my bare arms like a shockwave as Mark burst through the heavy front doors.
Down the winding gravel drive, the red and blue emergency lights were already painting the ancient oak trees in strobing flashes. The wail of the siren echoed through the valley, growing deafeningly louder with every passing second.
"Breathe, Sarah," Mark murmured, his voice cracking with emotion as he reached the bottom of the terrace steps. "Look at me. Don't look back. Just look at me."
May you like
I kept my eyes on his jaw, on the bead of sweat tracing down his temple. Behind us, standing at the top of the grand staircase, my mother stood silhouetted against the chandeliers, looking not at me, but down the driveway at the flashing lights that were about to tear her carefully curated illusion of perfection into shreds.
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