My Wedding, My Funeral

When the officiant announced the end of the ceremony, a few guests clapped halfheartedly.

I stood alone at the altar. Sophia Russell, Mom, and my sister, Lila Bradford, were all gone.

The sympathetic looks soon gave way to whispers.

Some guests said Sophia did the right thing by leaving to help someone. Others pointed out that Evan Simmons had a serious medical condition. As his brother, I should've understood.

A few came over to offer what they seemed to think was comfort.

"At least you got through the ceremony."

"It's your wedding day. Let's not make this any more awkward."

I wasn't making a scene. I could barely stay on my feet.

The officiant offered me his arm to help me down from the altar. I took one step, and my legs buckled.

I fell down the steps, driving the broken rod deeper into my back. Pain tore through me, and my mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The hotel manager, Victor Torres, finally realized something was wrong and called 911.

By the time the second ambulance arrived, more than 40 minutes had passed since the chandelier fell.

They rushed me to the hospital. As the paramedics wheeled me into the ER, I spotted Sophia outside an exam room, holding Evan's hand.

"Don't worry," she said softly. "Once we get the test results, we'll know you're alright."

Evan nodded. "Sorry, Sophia. I didn't mean to pull you away from your own wedding."

She gently wiped the blood from his face. "You have nothing to apologize for."

I reached for her. A faint rasp caught in my throat, too quiet for her to hear.

A young doctor stepped up to my gurney. Her name tag read Claire Horton.

She took one look at my face and reached for my wrist to check my pulse.

"His heart rate's way too high. Systolic pressure's barely over 70." She looked up. "Why wasn't he brought in sooner?"

Victor rushed to explain. "He stayed to finish the ceremony. We thought he was just shaken up."

Claire pushed back my sleeve. My skin was pale, and my fingers were ice-cold.

She leaned over me. "Where are you hurt?"

I lifted a shaking hand and pointed to my lower back. My heavy dress uniform covered the wound, and the rigid belt pressed hard against it.

Turning hurt too much, so I kept gesturing, trying to explain that something was lodged in my back.

Claire couldn't follow all my gestures, but she saw the fear in my eyes.

"Get him into a trauma bay. Now."

She started to wheel me in, but Mom stepped out of Evan's exam room.

"Claire, stop," Mom said.

Claire turned to her. "Ms. Hale, his blood pressure is dangerously low. We need to examine him now."

Mom glanced at me.

"He's my son. He was badly injured a few years ago and never fully recovered. He's spent hours standing in that heavy uniform, and he just had a scare. Of course he's pale."

I shook my head and caught her hand. Again, I tried to explain about the chandelier, the metal rod, and the wound in my back.

Mom understood every gesture. She just closed her hand around mine.

"They already checked the scene. Lila told me herself that nothing hit you."

I pulled free and reached for the buckle on my belt. As soon as I touched it, pain blacked out my vision.

Claire caught me as I slumped forward. "He can't even hold himself upright. This isn't just nerves."

Mom's tone sharpened. "I'm the head nurse here. If anything happens, I'll take responsibility."

She ordered someone to push my gurney to the side of the hallway, then turned to the other nurses.

"Evan's tests come first. I want everyone available to help him."

They left my gurney against the cold wall.

Blood kept seeping from my back, and I grew colder by the minute.

But there was nothing I could do.