Chapter 4 - The Ring Bearer's Diagnosis
The crowd of guests shrank back, pressing their expensive suits and gowns against the walls.
Nobody reached out.
From behind the tall floral arrangement, the five-year-old boy stepped out into the open space.
He dragged the heavy velvet ring pillow behind him by one golden tassel.
He walked right through the puddle of spilled champagne.
His small black shoes stopped inches from the maid’s legs.
He looked down at the glowing phone screen, which was now looping the silent video of the syringe.
He looked up at the bride, watching the dark mascara run down her red cheek.
He tilted his head, his brow furrowing in deep concentration.
"Auntie Sera," the boy piped up, his high voice slicing cleanly through the tension.
The groom froze, his clenched fist dropping a fraction of an inch.
"Mommy uses a plastic tube just like that when I have a really bad fever."
The boy pointed a tiny, uncoordinated finger at the syringe on the screen.
"Did Uncle Julian have a tummy ache?"
The bride let out a ragged, choking gasp, covering her mouth with both hands.
"If it's just medicine," the little boy whispered, staring at the shattered glass, "why did you hide it in his juice instead of telling him to be brave?"
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The bride’s knees buckled.
She collapsed onto the wet marble, her massive white dress ballooning around her like a deflating parachute.
