“Thank you,” I whispered. “You stood up for me when I couldn’t.”
That night, the reception limped forward awkwardly without the groom.
Relatives whispered.
My aunt muttered that men used to know how to treat women properly.
Meanwhile, several guests secretly congratulated Ryan.
Ed didn’t come home that night.
I sat alone in our apartment still wearing pieces of my ruined dress, wondering whether my marriage had ended before it even truly began.
The next morning, Ed finally came back.
He still wore the stained tuxedo from the night before.
And for the first time since the wedding, he looked genuinely ashamed.
He dropped to his knees in our living room.
