I excused myself, left Daniel to “network” with Vanessa, and walked out into the freezing November night.

Driving my SUV down a desolate stretch of the I-495, the stress finally broke the levee. A blinding pain ripped through my lower abdomen and radiated into my back.

My vision blurred, black spots dancing in the glare of oncoming headlights. My blood pressure — a concern all week — spiked.

I hit the brakes, tires squealing as I wrestled the vehicle onto the gravel shoulder.

Clutching my stomach, cold sweat breaking across my forehead, I grabbed my phone and hit Daniel’s speed dial.

Ring. Ring. Ring. You’ve reached Daniel Thorne. Leave a message.