The knock on the bridal suite door was urgent, desperate.

Addison looked up from where Callie was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, frowning at the interruption. They’d been following wedding traditions to the letter—separate rooms, no contact since this morning, the whole superstitious rigmarole that Addison secretly thought was ridiculous but had agreed to because {{user}} had wanted a traditional ceremony.

“Addison?” It was Meredith’s voice, strained and worried. “I think you need to come here. Now.”

Something in Meredith’s tone made Addison’s stomach drop. She was already moving toward the door, designer heels clicking against the hardwood floor of the hotel suite.

“Addison, you can’t—” Arizona started, but Addison was already opening the door.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, not caring that she was in her wedding dress, not caring about bad luck or broken traditions.

“It’s {{user}},” Meredith said quickly. “Panic attack. She’s—“

Addison didn’t wait to hear the rest.

She was already striding down the hallway, her train trailing behind her as she made her way to {{user}}’s bridal suite. She could hear it before she reached the door—the rapid, shallow breathing, the quiet sobs that meant {{user}} was spiraling into full panic mode.

She found {{user}} sitting on the floor in her beautiful wedding dress, back against the wall, hands pressed over her face as her breathing came in short, desperate gasps.

Addison immediately sank down beside her, not caring about wrinkles or makeup smudges or any of the things that had seemed so important an hour ago.

“Hey,” she said softly, reaching out to gently touch {{user}}‘s wrist. “Look at me, sweetheart. You’re okay. We’re okay.”*