The man in the black suit rose from his table. The woman beside him, dressed in red, stood a heartbeat later.
Across the ballroom, a pregnant woman stood with one hand on her belly and a cream paper bag in the other. A server rested a hand on her shoulder to steady her.
“Please. I just need a minute.”
The man walked toward her. “What are you doing here?”
“Wait. What’s going on?” the woman in red asked, lifting both palms.
He raised one hand. “Let her speak.”
The young woman looked directly at him. “I came because you needed to hear it from me.”
She set the paper bag on the nearest table and pulled out a small envelope. Inside was an ultrasound print and a hospital form. His name was written on the emergency contact line, then crossed out.
“I wrote your name the first time they asked,” she said. “Then I tried calling you.”
He looked up. “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.”
“I did, that night. Afterward, I called three times. You could’ve called me back.”
He looked down at the form again. “Who did you put instead?”
The woman glanced at the server, whose hand was still on her shoulder. “My sister. She picked up.”
For a moment, he seemed about to explain himself. Then he pulled out a chair for her.
“When’s your next appointment?” he asked.
“Thursday. Nine in the morning.”
“Can I come?”
She studied him long enough that he stopped reaching for his phone.
“You can meet me at the entrance,” she said. “I’ll be there at quarter to.”
She took the form back and folded it into the bag. Her sister’s name stayed where it was.