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“With the room,” she corrected.

“The room is ready.”

“It’s ready now.”

“Yes.”

“So sit down.”

I looked toward the stage-management table. There were chairs behind it.

I could sit.

Nothing on my checklist required me to remain upright.

Nobody was currently asking me a question.

I took one step toward the table.

My phone rang.

The sound went through me like an alarm.

I had it in my hand before the second ring.

***

The voice on the phone asked whether I had a moment, which was how professionals announced they were about to take several and charge interest.

“I have one,” I said. “Use it efficiently.”

A pause.

“Ms. Nair, this is regarding your professional liability renewal.”

The ballroom continued moving around me. A florist carried an arrangement toward table twelve. Two servers adjusted chairs along the north cross-aisle. Onstage, the lighting tech pointed a fixture down three degrees.

My attention narrowed until all of it looked very far away.

“What regarding it?”

“We still need the signed declarations.”

“I signed the application.”

“You did. The carrier issued final terms Friday afternoon, but the declarations page wasn’t included in the e-signature packet.”

I checked my watch.

9:00.

“When does the current policy expire?”

“Midnight tonight.”

My body reacted before my mind did. My hand tightened around the phone. The room sharpened at every edge—the seam in the carpet, the aluminum stage rail, the white corners of banquet chairs.

A lapsed policy meant no coverage.