Dylan sent me a viral video of a man throwing his new wife into a pool during their photo shoot months before our wedding.
He laughed so hard that he cried and gripped his stomach. He said, “Can you see yourself doing that at our wedding?”
I didn’t think that was humorous.
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “If you ever do that to me again, I’ll leave.” I mean it.
He embraced me, kissed my forehead, and murmured, “Claire, I would never.” Don’t worry.
I wanted to believe him. I did.
It felt like magic on the day of our wedding. It was a beautiful day outside, with the sun shining and the flowers smelling great. 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. At that moment, I felt like we had made something safe and beautiful together.
It took me six months to plan my dress. It was made of white tulle, pearl buttons, and lovely workmanship that was done with affection. The party was a lot of fun and had a lot of music until the photographer ordered us to go outside by the pool and take romantic photographs.
Dylan pushed a wayward hair out of my face and leaned in close. “Do you trust me?”
I smiled a little. “Of course.” Nothing new.
He nodded.
We did a typical dip shot, with the groom lying back and the bride giggling while the camera clicked. But then he let go.
The water was cold and scary, and it swallowed me whole. My dress swirled about me like a ghost, my makeup ran into my eyes, and the weight of it all drew me down.
Dylan wasn’t pulling me out when I came back up, gasping and choking. He was smiling, full of adrenaline, and giving high-fives to his groomsmen.
“That’s going to be a hit!” He roared, and his chest swelled up like a champion.
He didn’t need to say sorry. No issue. I am just happy about how embarrassed I am.
Not with a boom, but cleanly, like glass finally cracking, something inside me broke.
Then I heard my dad’s voice. Stay calm. Steady.
“Come here, darling Claire.”
He walked through the stunned crowd, took off his jacket, and dipped both hands in the water.
I didn’t think about it. I held him close, like if he were the only thing that mattered in the world. My dad carefully took me up, put me in his jacket, steadied my face, and then turned to Dylan.
Not angry. Not loud. Just totally.
He said, “She’s done.” “And you are too.”
There was no sound at the end of the reception. My mom cleaned up while I got dressed. I had always wanted to wear a wedding dress, and the person who pulled it off of me was shaking.
Dylan’s parents tried to talk to me. I walked by them.
I looked at the stack of thank-you notes we had already written that night in my childhood bedroom. I couldn’t stop asking myself, “How did we get here?”
At midnight, my phone rang.
Dylan: “You can’t take a joke? You need to calm down.
I didn’t say anything, and I blocked his number.
The next morning, Dad told me to come to his office. “You should hear it for yourself,” he said.
Dylan was already there, and he seemed very pleased with himself.
Dylan yelled, “You can’t let me go.” “This is personal.”
Dad clasped his hands together. “It’s both personal and work-related.” You did something that made this company lose trust in you.
Dylan laughed. “You’d end my career over a joke? We are married. That provides me a legal reason—
Dad stopped him.
He said, “You’re not married.” “The license was never filed.” After their honeymoon, Claire wanted to sign. The law says nothing happened.
Dylan blinked, which made him lose his equilibrium. “You are not telling the truth.”
I went on. “Don’t lie.” I called the clerk this morning. No license. No processing. “Nothing.”
Dad got up and talked.
“You lost your wife.” You don’t have a job anymore. You don’t have any of our money. You were right about one thing, Dylan: 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, Janelle, who had been our maid for a long time, made grilled cheese and tomato soup. I was still in disbelief as I sat down in the kitchen.
Janelle said, “I would have pushed him into the pool myself if I had been at that wedding.”
We both laughed, and it was the first time since it happened that we actually laughed. I felt safe at last.
A few weeks later, I got my clothes back from the cleaners. It was clean, but it felt different—stiff in places that used to be soft and worn in places that used to feel like they would last forever.
I handed it away. Let another person turn it into something beautiful.
People constantly want to know what hurt the most: the outfit that was ruined, the shame in public, or the betrayal.
It was not important.
It hurt to know that I had built a wall of trust, just for him to break it for fun.
I learned that love isn’t about big things or events that go viral. Respect is what matters. Everything else is just noise without respect.
The business fared fine without Dylan.
What about me? I moved into an apartment that was quiet and bright. I went back to work as a book editor. I started to say yes to leisurely breakfasts, quiet walks, and small joys.
I may say yes to marriage again in the future.
But there won’t be any dipshots near the pool.
A guy who listens when I say, “Please don’t.”
