The Night of the Hospital
The night before the wedding, my body decided to betray me.
My appendix went rogue, and suddenly I was lying in a hospital gown, IV in my arm, listening to the steady beep of machines.
A kind nurse told me I wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Mom called from her hotel suite, surrounded by laughter, hairspray, and champagne.
“Oh, Andrea, that’s such bad timing,” she said, as if I’d chosen to get sick just to ruin the cake schedule.
“Yeah,” I said dryly. “I’ll try not to bleed on the decorations.”
They promised to take care of Stella. “She’ll be with family,” Mom chirped. “She’ll have a wonderful time.”
Right. The same family that once forgot me at a gas station for two hours.
But I bit my tongue, told Stella to behave, and watched her twirl in her new blue dress.
“Aunt Chelsea said I’ll sit near Grandma,” she smiled.
“That’s nice, honey,” I said, even though something in my chest already hurt.
Daniel, my ex-husband, offered to drive her. He wasn’t invited—Chelsea’s guest list was curated like a red-carpet event—but he said he’d drop Stella off and leave quietly.
