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The garden felt surreal, a harsh contrast to the turmoil boiling inside me. I stood ankle-deep in the pool, my wedding dress a heavy, soaked weight clinging to my skin. Dylan’s so-called prank had crossed a line I’d drawn weeks before, turning our wedding into a humiliating spectacle. As I climbed out, shivering and stunned, I saw my father cutting through the crowd toward Dylan.
His voice silenced everyone. “You promised her,” he said firmly. “A wedding is about love and respect, not a cheap laugh.” Dylan, suddenly pale, tried to speak but my father stopped him. “This isn’t about a wet dress; it’s about trust. You broke it.”
Then he turned to me gently. “Maggie, what do you want to do?” Under every guest’s gaze, I chose honesty. “Dylan, I’m hurt. You need to make this right.” Dylan, flushed with regret, apologized sincerely. Standing beside my father, I felt a new strength—and the first step toward rebuilding or walking away.
