You Told Me “Not Tonight,” Brother, Now There Is No Tomorrow

The last of the guests trickled out of the grand ballroom around midnight, leaving behind half-empty champagne flutes and scattered white rose petals.

My tie felt loose around my collar, but a pleasant warmth still buzzed in my chest. The toasts had gone off without a single flaw. Claire’s father had slapped me on the back, calling me the son he never had, and Claire had spent the entire evening glowing with a smile that made every cent spent on this banquet worth it.

I unbuttoned my jacket and finally pulled my phone from my pocket.

The screen showed five congratulatory texts from college friends, an automated alert from my banking app, and nothing else.

No texts from Natalie. No missed calls.

My jaw tightened. She had really left. After throwing a tantrum in front of Claire’s parents and pounding on the lounge glass like an unruly child, she had walked out of the hotel without a single word of apology.

I unlocked the screen, opening our chat thread. The last text from her was from two days ago, asking what time she should arrive to help set up.

My fingers tapped hard against the glass.

*Tomorrow, you're apologizing to Chloe and Claire. I'm serious this time.*

I hit send, shoving the phone back into my pocket with a sharp exhale.

"Still no word from Nat?" Chloe asked softly, appearing beside me with her light wrap draped over her arm.

"She went home," I said, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice. "She thinks disappearing like this makes a statement. That if she stays silent, I'll panic and call her a dozen times like I used to."

Chloe offered an understanding, gentle smile. "Don't be too hard on her, Ethan. She was probably just embarrassed after she calmed down. You know how she gets when she feels left out. She probably just didn't want to make things awkward by coming back in."

"She needs to grow up," I muttered. "She's twenty-five, not twelve. She can't keep using these little dramatic exits whenever the room isn't centered around her."

Claire walked over, slipping her hand into the crook of my arm and resting her head against my shoulder. "Let's just head up to the suite, Ethan. It was a wonderful night. Don't let anything ruin it."

"You're right," I murmured, pressing a kiss to Claire's forehead. "Let's go."

"Mr. Reed? Excuse me, Mr. Reed."

The banquet manager hurried across the polished hardwood floor, holding a dark gray wool coat over his forearm and a small black leather clutch in his hands.

"We're doing the final sweep of the hall," the manager said, extending the items toward me. "These were left behind at table four and near the head table. I believe they belong to your sister?"

"Yes," I said, reaching out to take them. "Thank you. I'll take them to her tomorrow."

"She didn't take her coat in this weather?" Claire remarked, glancing at the heavy wool fabric. "It's forty degrees outside."

I looked down at the small black clutch in my palm. It was the plain leather bag I had bought Natalie for her college graduation. The brass zipper was half-open.

I pulled the flap back to check for her keys.

Resting right on top of her compact powder and wallet was a bright yellow plastic tube.

My fingers brushed against the rigid casing, and my entire body went rigid.

The EpiPen.

A cold sensation prickled along the back of my neck. Natalie never stepped outside our apartment without her auto-injector. Not to the grocery store. Not to the mailbox. Since she was eight years old, that pen lived in her right hand or her bag. If she had stormed out to catch a cab in a fit of rage, she would have grabbed her purse first.

The manager reached into his jacket pocket and produced a sleek smartphone with a cracked screen protector.

"We found her phone on table four as well," the manager added, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked between me and Claire. "Her water glass was knocked over, and her soup bowl was barely touched. Didn't anyone tell you about the ambulance?"

The air in my chest thinned instantly.

"What ambulance?" I demanded, stepping forward. "What are you talking about?"

"The paramedics," the manager said, his voice dropping into uneasy confusion. "Around nine-thirty. A guest suffered severe respiratory distress in the private side anteroom. The banquet team found her unconscious on the floor and called nine-one-one immediately. They rushed her out through the rear loading bay to avoid disrupting your banquet."

The room seemed to tilt beneath my shoes.

*Nine-thirty.*

Nine-thirty was when I had walked over to the side lounge.

Nine-thirty was when Natalie had pressed her trembling hands against the partition, her mouth open, her chest heaving as she slammed her palms against the glass.

I had looked at her face. I had seen her lips parted, her cheeks pale, her eyes wide with a frantic, desperate terror.

And I had thought she was making a scene.

I had thought she was trying to steal the room's attention away from Claire's toast.

*My bag. I need... my pen.*

The broken, sandpaper rasp of her voice echoed in my ears like a gunshot. She hadn't been gripping my sleeve to drag me away from the head table. She hadn't been glaring at Chloe.

She had been pointing at the floor beside my chair.

Where her black clutch had been sitting the entire time.

"Oh my God," Claire whispered, her hand flying to her mouth as the color drained from her face. "Ethan... earlier, when she grabbed your arm... she wasn't yelling at us. She was pointing at her bag."

"Where did they take her?" I grabbed the manager's shoulder with enough force to bunch the fabric of his suit jacket. "Which hospital? Where is she?!"

"I—I believe City Memorial," the manager stammered, startled by my grip. "That's the closest trauma center with an advanced respiratory unit. Sir, she was completely cyanotic when they put her on the gurney. She wasn't breathing on her own."

*She wasn't breathing.*

And I had reached up, grabbed the heavy velvet curtain, and pulled it shut to block her out.

I had turned my back on her while she suffocated against the glass.

"Ethan!" Claire called out, but I was already moving.

I bolted across the ballroom, shoving past the heavy double doors and racing down the carpeted corridor toward the front lobby. I didn't wait for the valet. I sprinted straight out into the freezing night air, the bitter wind slicing through my dress shirt as I tore across the parking lot toward my car.

The drive to City Memorial was a blur of red lights, screeching tires, and the deafening sound of my own pulse hammering against my eardrums. My hands shook so violently against the steering wheel that I could barely keep the car in the lane.

*Please, God. Please.*

*Look at me, Nat. Look at me. You're going to be okay.*

The memory of carrying her through the rain when we were kids clawed at my chest like sharp iron hooks. I had promised our father in the hospital after the crash that I would protect her. I had sworn that nothing would ever happen to her as long as I was around.

I pulled the car violently against the curb outside the emergency room entrance, leaving the engine running and the hazard lights flashing.

I pushed through the sliding glass doors into the bright, sterile chaos of the ER lobby, clutching Natalie's purse against my ribs.

"I need help," I shouted, slamming my palm down on the high intake desk. The receptionist looked up in surprise. "My sister was brought in by an ambulance from the St. Regis about two hours ago. Severe anaphylactic shock. She has asthma too. Her name is Natalie Reed."

The woman tapped quickly on her keyboard, her eyes scanning the monitor. The rhythmic clatter of her keystrokes felt like needles pressing into my skull.

"Natalie Reed," she murmured. Her typing stopped.

She looked up at me, her expression shifting from routine efficiency into something heavy and guarded.

"Wait here for a moment, sir," she said quietly.

She picked up the desk phone, dialed a short extension, and spoke in a low voice I couldn't catch. Ten seconds later, a tall nurse in dark blue scrubs pushed through the double security doors from the inner ward.

She carried a small clipboard, her eyes scanning the lobby before landing on my disheveled suit and the black clutch in my grip.

She walked over, stopping a few feet away.

"Are you Natalie Reed's family?" the nurse asked.

"I'm her brother," I gasped out, my voice breaking. "I'm Ethan. Tell me she's okay. Where is she? Can I see her?"

The nurse didn't answer right away.

She remained silent for two long seconds, her eyes searching my face with a quiet, unreadable sorrow that made the blood freeze in my veins.

"Then you need to come identify her," she said.