I didn’t think. I ran.
By the time I reached her, I took in the scene—a kid, maybe sixteen, on the ground, body going rigid, eyes rolled back.
Seizure.
The party had come to a standstill, all eyes locked on Michelle as she sat there, completely steady, resting his head on her knees. No fear, no panic, just pure control.
It seemed to last forever, but slowly, the tremors subsided.
The kid blinked, disoriented but aware.
“Hi,” Michelle said, voice warm, grounding. “I’m Michelle. Do you know where you are?”
He swallowed hard. “My cousin’s rehearsal dinner.”
A woman, probably his mother, let out a strangled sob. “Oh, Ivan. Are you okay?”
He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Yeah. Just rattled.”
Michelle’s brow furrowed, but she stayed calm. “That was four minutes long. If they reach five, you need to call an ambulance.”
She turned to his mother, steady but firm. “Do you need water? Should we move to another room?”
“No, please.” Ivan shook his head. “We’ll leave. These drain me for hours.”
“I’ll help you to your car,” Michelle offered, already standing, already reaching for his hand to help him up.
That was when I snapped out of it.
“I got him.” My voice came out gruffer than I intended, but Michelle just gave me a tight nod.
Ivan was heavier than I expected, but I didn’t falter. He leaned against me, grateful but exhausted, as his mother kept murmuring reassurances.
“Pete. Pete!” The woman’s voice cut through the silence.
An older man rushed over, his face paling as he took in his son’s condition.
“We should leave,” he said, placing a hand on Ivan’s back.
“This is the third time today,” Pete muttered. “We need to go to the hospital.”
Ivan groaned, but I caught the flicker of worry in his eyes.
Michelle nodded, her voice even but urging. “Three seizures in a day isn’t normal. You need to go. They need to rule out other contributing factors .”
After a few tense beats, Pete nodded.
We helped Ivan into the car, his mom fussing over him, his dad trying to keep her calm. By the time the car disappeared down the road, the adrenaline had started to wear off. The party lurched back into motion, voices rising, music creeping back in.
Michelle, though—she was still locked in place.
I moved before I could stop myself, sliding my arm around her waist, tucking her close. “You okay, Mitch?”
She nodded, but her body told another story. Her shoulders stiff, her fingers curled into her dress.
My chest tightened at her tense expression. I reached up, brushing her hair from her face, forcing her to look at me.
Fuck our past.
