"Ma'am," Rosa managed, her voice shaking as she attempted to push herself upright, the effort proving more difficult than it should have. "I think something's wrong. I need a moment—"
"You need to fetch a fresh glass," Constance said, her tone entirely unmoved, already reaching for a nearby magazine as though the conversation had concluded to her satisfaction.
Rosa's tears fell freely now, the sharp tightening in her abdomen intensifying into something closer to genuine pain, fear beginning to overtake her earlier simple discomfort. She remained kneeling, one hand braced against the cold marble floor, the other pressed protectively against her stomach, uncertain whether she had the strength to rise without assistance.
It was the distant, echoing sound of the estate's heavy front doors opening that finally broke through her mounting panic — footsteps crossing the marble entrance hall with brisk, purposeful strides, growing steadily louder as they approached the sunroom.