“You’re confusing the staff. They have instructions. He knows what he’s doing.”
The server winced and quickly moved away.
“You were just getting in the way,” she cut me off, her eyes raking over my simple maternity dress. “Honestly, can you please just go sit down somewhere?
That whole situation”—she gestured vaguely at my body—“is making the photographers’ angles difficult. You look tired. You’re ruining the atmosphere.”
Doris swooped in immediately, her diamond rings flashing as she waved a dismissive hand.
“Khloe is absolutely right, McKenna,” she said. Her voice was smooth but held the unyielding edge of polished steel. “You should go rest in the library.
I simply cannot have you looking pale in the family portraits. The Thorntons will be here any minute, and we must present the perfect image tonight.”
She stressed the word perfect as if it were a legal requirement, which in her world it was. “I will not have them thinking this family doesn’t know how to prepare for an event of this caliber.
This merger—this wedding—is too important.”
She turned to Khloe, her entire demeanor softening into sugary adoration. “Darling, you go finish your makeup. The photographer wants to do your bridal portraits by the fountain.
Khloe shot me one last triumphant smirk before gliding away, leaving me alone with my mother-in-law. I tried to stand my ground, though I felt a familiar wave of exhaustion. “I was just trying to help, Doris.
The name cards were completely wrong.”
Doris let out a sigh, a sound of profound impatience, as if I were a child who had spilled juice on her white carpet. “McKenna, dear,” she said, stepping closer, “you help by sitting still. You help by not getting in the way.
Honestly, you look utterly lumpy in that dress.”
She eyed my simple, elegant maternity dress with open disdain. “I told you to wear the navy blue silk. It was far more appropriate.
That beige color just washes you out completely. Now please go to the library. Don’t make me ask you again.”
Just then, my husband Marcus walked into the foyer, already in his tuxedo.
“She’s just trying to help. She’s been a huge help all week.”
He offered me a quick, strained smile, one I recognized instantly. It was his please just go along with it smile.
“And I think you look beautiful, Kenna. That dress is perfect.”
Doris didn’t even turn to look at her son. She simply raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, addressing his reflection in a large gilt-edged mirror on the wall.
“Marcus, do not make me angry today. Not today of all days. I have told you I am handling this, and I have already said McKenna should not be overexerting herself.”
She finally turned her cold, appraising gaze back to me, ignoring her son completely.
“Or perhaps you have forgotten the Thornton gala last year. Have you forgotten what happened then?”
I flinched as if she had physically struck me. How could I forget?
The humiliation of that night was still a cold knot in my stomach. Doris continued, her voice rising slightly, ensuring the nearby staff could overhear. “McKenna spilled an entire tray of vintage champagne directly onto Senator Thornton’s wife.
Red champagne. On a white designer gown. I had to spend months repairing that relationship.
We simply cannot afford another one of your clumsy incidents today, McKenna. Not with Khloe’s future at stake. Everything must be perfect.”
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms.
I remembered that night perfectly. I remembered every sickening detail. I had been carrying two glasses back from the bar, navigating the crowded ballroom.
Khloe, angry that Senator Thornton had spent twenty minutes praising my recent article on medtech marketing, had “accidentally” stuck her foot out right into my path. I stumbled and the champagne went flying. The entire room fell silent.
Doris had looked at me with pure, unadulterated venom. But the worst part came later. I remembered Marcus pulling me into an alcove, his grip painfully tight on my arm.
“Just apologize, Kenna,” he’d hissed, his eyes darting around to see who might be watching. “Don’t make a scene. Just say you’re sorry.
You know how Mom gets about the Thorntons.”
So I had. I had stood there, humiliated, and apologized profusely to Khloe and Mrs. Thornton for my “clumsiness.” I had taken the blame for Khloe’s malice, all to keep the peace.
All to protect Marcus from his own mother’s wrath. And here he was, offering the same weak, meaningless defense. His words, “I think you look beautiful,” weren’t a defense at all.
They were just another way of saying, “Please, Kenna, just do what she says so my life can be easier.”
I did as I was told. I went to the library and sat on a stiff antique chair for nearly an hour, listening to the muffled sounds of the string quartet warming up outside and the rising pitch of Khloe’s laughter from the bridal suite down the hall. Finally, I couldn’t sit still any longer.
I needed to use the restroom and I wanted to avoid the main hallway, which was now bustling with arriving guests. I slipped out the library side door and went to the small guest bathroom tucked away under the grand staircase. It was 1:00, exactly one hour before the ceremony was scheduled to begin.
I was washing my hands, staring at my tired reflection in the ornate mirror, when the first pain hit. It wasn’t a contraction. It was a sharp, brutal cramp low in my back, so intense it made my knees buckle.
I gripped the cold marble sink, my breath catching in my throat. I tried to straighten up, telling myself it was just a normal ache from carrying so much weight. But as I did, a second, more violent spasm seized me.
And then I felt it. A sudden, unmistakable gush of warm liquid running down my legs, soaking my dress and pooling on the pristine white floor tiles. I looked down in absolute terror.
It couldn’t be. It was too soon. My due date was six weeks away.
“No,” I whispered to my reflection, my heart hammering against my ribs. “No. Not now.
Please, not now.”
As if in answer, the first real contraction ripped through my abdomen. It was nothing like the gentle Braxton Hicks I had experienced. This was a blinding, all-consuming pain that stole my breath and sent a wave of dizziness through me.
I collapsed against the wall, my hand instinctively flying to my stomach, which was now rock hard. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my system. This was real.
The baby was coming. Now. I had to find Marcus.
I had to get to a hospital. I pushed the bathroom door open, my whole body trembling. The hallway was empty.
The music from the garden was louder here, a cheerful mocking melody. I had to find Marcus. He was a doctor.
He would know what to do. He would get me to the hospital. I moved down the hall, one hand clutching my stomach as another contraction began to build.
“Marcus,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I peered into the chaotic main hall, but he wasn’t there. I saw Khloe posing for a photo, laughing.
I saw my father-in-law talking with Senator Thornton, but no Marcus. My eyes darted to the bridal dressing room, a large suite just off the main hall. The door was slightly ajar.
Maybe Marcus was in there. I pushed the door open, breathless. “Marcus—”
But it wasn’t my husband.
It was Doris. She was alone, standing in the center of the room, which was filled with towering stacks of gifts wrapped in silver and white. She was running a critical eye over the gift table, repositioning a large Tiffany box just slightly to the left.
She hadn’t heard me. “Mother,” I gasped, leaning heavily against the ornate doorframe. The pain was sharp now, stealing my breath.
“I… I think I’m in labor. My water broke.”
I pointed down at the dark, spreading stain on my beige dress, my voice breaking with panic. “I’m having contractions.
It’s… it’s happening now.”
I watched her face. The socialite smile vanished. For a split second, I saw genuine shock.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. But just as quickly, the shock was gone, replaced by something I had never seen directed at me before.
It was pure, cold, reptilian anger. Her eyes narrowed, her perfectly painted lips pressing into a thin, furious line. She took a step toward me, her voice low and menacing.
“No.”
I blinked, confused by the single word. “No?”
“What do you mean, no? I need to go to the hospital.
I need to call Marcus.”
Doris shook her head, a small tight motion. “No. Not now,” she hissed, her eyes darting toward the hallway as if to check if anyone was listening.
“You will not do this. You will not ruin your sister-in-law’s wedding.”
Her words were so cold, so void of humanity, that I couldn’t process them. I fumbled in the pocket of my maternity dress, my fingers desperately searching for my phone.
“I… I have to call Marcus,” I stammered, pulling it out. “He’s a doctor. He’ll know—”
Before I could even unlock the screen, Doris’s hand shot out like a viper.
She snatched the phone from my grasp, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were blazing. “You will not,” she seethed, “ruin Khloe’s day.
Do you have any idea what this wedding means? The Thorntons have spent a million dollars on this event. This is about our family’s future, our standing.
This is not about your little inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience?” I gasped as another contraction, sharper this time, radiated from my back and wrapped around my abdomen like a band of fire. I nearly buckled, grabbing onto the gift table to keep myself upright. The Tiffany box wobbled dangerously.
“Mother, I—please,” I begged. “This isn’t panic. I’m in labor.
I am having a baby. Right now.”
Doris didn’t even flinch at my pain. She simply pocketed my phone.
“Then you will hold it in. You are a strong woman, McKenna. I’ve always said that.
You just need to breathe deeply. Think about something else. Think about the family.
Think about how devastated Khloe would be if you turned her perfect day into a medical sideshow. All those important guests, the senator. It’s just unthinkable.”
The sheer audacity of her request, the absolute cruelty, left me speechless.
She was telling me to hold in childbirth. As I struggled to find the words to fight back, another wave of pain crashed over me, forcing me to my knees. The cold marble floor was a shock against my skin.
“Please,” I begged, looking up at the woman who was my husband’s mother, the grandmother of my child. “Please. I’m not joking.
I am in real pain. Give me my phone. I need to call a doctor.
I need Marcus.”
Doris’s eyes darted around the room, settling on the heavy, solid oak door of the ensuite bathroom. “This is what you’re going to do,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if she were solving a minor scheduling conflict. “You’re going to go into this bathroom.
You’re going to sit on the floor, breathe, and be quiet. You just need to hold on for a few hours. That’s all.
Just until after the ceremony and the main photographs.”
I stared at her in disbelief, the pain of another contraction making me dizzy. “Hold on? Mother, this is a baby.
It’s not a business meeting you can reschedule. I need a hospital.”
“And you will get one,” she snapped. “After.
You will not steal Khloe’s spotlight. You will not turn this entire day into the ‘McKenna Has a Baby’ show. I forbid it.”
She grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my bicep, and hauled me to my feet.
I was surprised by her strength, but I was so weak from the pain and shock that I stumbled, barely able to stay upright. “No, please,” I cried, trying to pull away, but my resistance was feeble. “Get in,” she ordered, pushing me roughly through the bathroom doorway.
I fell against the vanity, my hip hitting the marble edge. The room was opulent, all gold fixtures and more marble, but it felt like a prison cell. “Mother, you can’t!” I cried out, turning back, but she was already pulling the door shut.
“Doris, please don’t do this—”
I lunged for the handle, but it was too late. I heard the unmistakable metallic click of a key turning in the lock from the outside. My blood ran cold.
It wasn’t a simple button lock I could undo. She had used a key. She had planned this.
“Mother!” I screamed, pounding on the heavy wood door with both fists. “Let me out. What are you doing?
Let me out of here. I’m in labor. Doris!”
I could hear her footsteps moving away, muffled.
The door was thick, soundproofed. “Help!” I screamed again, rattling the handle uselessly. “Somebody help me!
She locked me in. She locked me in!”
I was trapped. My baby was coming and my mother-in-law had locked me in a bathroom, leaving me to face it alone.
I hammered on the door until my fists ached, my throat raw from screaming. The thick wood muffled everything, turning my desperate cries into dull, heavy thuds. “Let me out, please.
Somebody—Marcus!” I shouted, rattling the locked handle again and again. Another contraction seized me and I slid down the door, gasping, pressing my forehead against the cool wood. It was no use.
No one could hear me. Then, through the door, I heard the faint sound of the dressing room door opening again, followed by my sister-in-law’s voice. “Mom, what was all that pounding?” Khloe asked.
Her voice was sharp, annoyed. “Is everything okay? Where did McKenna go?”
There was a pause.
I held my breath, listening, praying Khloe would show some decency. Then came Doris’s voice, as smooth and calm as if she were discussing the weather. “Oh, it’s nothing, darling.
Just McKenna being overly dramatic as usual.”
I pressed my ear against the wood, straining to hear. “She started feeling a bit overwhelmed by the pregnancy. You know how she gets.
I simply suggested she take a moment to rest and compose herself in the bathroom. She’s always trying to make everything about her.”
A beat of silence, and then Khloe laughed. It wasn’t a big laugh, just a short, dismissive, “Huh.
Figures.”
It was a sound of complicity, of shared amusement. That laugh was a betrayal, almost as sharp as the turning of the key. She knew.
She knew I was in here. And she didn’t care. “Now stop worrying about her,” Doris said, her voice bright and final.
“You look breathtaking. The Thorntons are waiting. Your future is waiting.
Go, darling. Go get married.”
I heard the rustle of Khloe’s dress as she presumably left the room. I was alone again.
A few moments later, a new sound filtered through the walls, faint but unmistakable. The opening notes of “Canon in D” played by a string quartet. The bridal march.
The ceremony was starting. They were walking down the aisle. They had actually left me here. Continue reading…
