Dylan sent me a viral video of a guy dumping his new bride into a pool while they were taking pictures months before our wedding.
He laughed so hard that he cried and gripped his stomach. “Can you see yourself doing that at our wedding?” he said.
It wasn’t hilarious to me.
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’ll leave if you ever do that to me again.” I genuinely mean it.
He drew me close, kissed my forehead, and murmured, “Claire, I would never.” Don’t worry.
I wanted to believe in him. I did.
It was like magic on the day we got married. The sun was shining on the patio outside, the flowers smelled great, and my father, Phillip, held my hand with pride as he walked me down the aisle. When we exchanged rings, I saw that Dylan’s hands were shaking. In that moment, I felt like we had made something beautiful and safe together.
It took me six months to make my dress. It was constructed of white tulle, pearl buttons, and gorgeous stitching that was done with care. The gathering was full of joy and music until the photographer ordered us to go outside by the pool and take romantic photographs.
Dylan got near to me and brushed a wayward hair out of my face. “Do you believe in me?”
I smiled a little. “Of course.” No surprises.
He nodded.
We took a typical dip image, with the groom resting back and the bride giggling as the camera clicked. But then he let go.
The water was chilly and scary, as it completely covered me. My dress swirled about me like a ghost, my makeup ran into my eyes, and the weight pulled me down.
When I came back up, choking and gasping, Dylan wasn’t hauling me out. He was smiling, full of energy, and giving his groomsmen high-fives.
“That will go viral!” He roared, and his chest puffed up like a champion.
He didn’t have to say he was sorry. No issue. I’m only happy about how embarrassed I am.
Something inside me broke, not with a bang, but cleanly, like glass breaking.
I could hear my dad’s voice then. Stay calm. Steady.
“Sweet Claire, come here.”
He walked through the stunned crowd, took off his jacket, and dipped both hands in the water.
I didn’t think about it. I clutched him tightly, like if he were the only thing that mattered in the world. My dad took me up carefully, put me in his jacket, steadied my face, and then turned to Dylan.
Not angry. Not loud. Just absolutely.
“She’s done,” he said. “And you are too.”
At the end of the reception, there was no noise. My mom cleaned up while I got dressed in warm clothing. I had always wanted to wear a wedding dress, and the person who pulled it off me was shaking.
Dylan’s parents tried to talk to me. I passed them.
That night, in my childhood bedroom, I looked at the pile of thank-you notes we had previously written. I couldn’t quit thinking about one thing: How did we get here?
At midnight, my phone rang.
Dylan: “You can’t really take a joke? You should calm down.
I didn’t say anything and disabled his phone number.
Dad told me to come to his office the next morning. He said, “You should hear it for yourself.”
Dylan was already there, and he seemed pleased with himself.
Dylan shouted, “You can’t fire me!” “This is personal.”
Dad clasped his hands together. “It’s both work and personal.” You broke this company’s trust when you did what you did.
Dylan laughed. “Are you really going to kill my career over a joke? We are husband and wife. That gives me a legal stake—
Dad told him to stop.
He said, “You aren’t married.” “The license was never filed.” Claire wanted to sign after their wedding. The law says that nothing happened.
Dylan blinked, which made him lose his equilibrium. “You are lying.”
I moved ahead. “Don’t lie.” I called the clerk this morning. No license. No processing. “Nothing.”
Dad got up and talked.
“You lost your wife.” You no longer have a job. You don’t have any of our cash. Dylan, you were right about one thing: you had a choice. “You made the choice to be mean.”
He opened the door. Before he left, Dylan didn’t say anything else.
Later that afternoon, our long-time housekeeper Janelle made grilled cheese and tomato soup. I was still in shock as I sat in the kitchen.
“If I had been at that wedding, I would have pushed him into the pool myself,” Janelle said.
We both laughed, and it was the first time since everything happened that we actually did. At last, I felt safe.
Weeks later, I got my clothes back from the cleaners. It was clean, but it felt different. Some parts were stiff that used to be soft, while other parts were worn down in ways that made it seem like they would last forever.
I let it go. Someone else can turn it into something beautiful.
People usually ask what hurt the most: the dress that was ruined, the public embarrassment, or the treachery.
It didn’t matter.
The sorrow came from knowing that I had built a wall of trust, just for him to break it for fun.
I learned that love isn’t about huge gestures or things that go viral. It’s all about showing respect. Everything else is just noise if you don’t appreciate it.
The business fared fine without Dylan.
What about me? I moved into an apartment that was quiet and had a lot of windows. I went back to editing books. I started to say yes to leisurely breakfasts, quiet walks, and small pleasures.
Someday, I might say yes to being married again.
But there won’t be any dipshots near the pool.
Just a guy who hears me when I say, “Please don’t.”