All I ever wanted was to have the wedding of my dreams. Everything, including the location, the flowers, and the photographer, was paid for by myself. I was able to manage it rather well on my own, with some assistance from my folks. Consequently, once my new husband conducted himself in the manner that he did at the reception, I discreetly departed and never returned.
Three years had passed since Peter and I had first started dating. Even though we were not a perfect fit, we were able to make it work because we loved each other. On Sunday mornings, we both enjoyed activities such as going on hikes, watching classic movies, and eating pancakes. On the other hand, there was a significant issue: he had a passion for pulling pranks, and I couldn’t bear them.
I detested the jokes, but he seemed to take great pleasure in them. I made an effort to ignore it, reminding myself that love meant acceptance of compromise and that there are times when you just have to let things go, even if they are bothering you. Because of this, I repressed my emotions. Through his ridiculous shocks, I managed to keep a grin on my face and laugh even when I didn’t feel like it.
When we finally decided to get engaged, I was the one who was in charge of everything, including organizing, budgeting, and planning. I paid for everything, including the location, the photographer, the flowers, and the cake. My parents did contribute a little amount.
Peter was not a very helpful person. The only thing he did was say, “Yeah, that sounds good,” and he promised to deliver the invitations, which, by the way, he sent out a little bit late. But I didn’t take it seriously. I kept believing that he would come through for me when it mattered the most.
I want to have a gorgeous appearance on the day of the wedding. Utilizing the pearl pins that my mother and I had selected together, I styled my hair in the manner that I had envisioned. In order to get that smooth and radiant appearance, I studied makeup instructions. I wasn’t trying to appear beautiful on social media; all I wanted was to feel like I was the only one in the room. My goal was that if I got my appearance exactly perfect, Peter would finally see me the way that I saw him looking at me.
I enjoyed the event very much. Our vows were exchanged. Whereas Peter did not shed a tear, I did. He gave me a grin, and for a little moment, I had faith in both of us once again.
Everything looked to be going according to plan at the reception: there was music playing, people dancing, and champagne flowing freely. After that, the cake arrived; it was a stunning buttercream cake with three tiers, which I had spent weeks meticulously selecting. During the cake-cutting ceremony, a number of people came around, and someone said, “Let the bride have the first slice!”
With a grin on my face, I walked forward and grabbed for the knife.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone shoved me from behind with a lot of force. When I hit the cake with my face, it was a direct hit. The amount of frosting that was in my nose made it impossible for me to breathe, and my veil became trapped in the icing. As a result of the icing that was on my eyelashes, my eyesight was hazy. Everyone let out a gasp, and then some of them began laughing.
As I stood there, I was coated in cake, my makeup was wrecked, I was deep in thought, and I was bursting with rage. Peter was standing next to me, grinning with a nasty expression on his face. He was aware that I detested playing pranks, yet he still decided to humiliate me on the day that was meant to be the greatest day of our lives together.
“Come on,” he murmured, seeing the pain that was visible on my face. A joke, that’s all it is. Don’t be so dull.
I wanted to say anything, to speak out for myself, to inquire as to why he was acting in such a manner, but I was unable to even breathe. I also had a part of me that didn’t want to make a larger deal out of it. Perhaps, on some level, I was aware that it was what he desired.
It was the aroma of the cake that was making me feel queasy. I was having trouble keeping my artificial lashes in place, and the makeup that I had worked so hard to achieve was suddenly a disaster that was pouring down my cheeks. All that labor was wasted in a matter of seconds.
Someone attempted to offer me a napkin, either to assist me or just to get me out of the way. I fell backwards as they attempted to do so. They were completely invisible to me.
My pulse was beating, and my eyes were filled with tears and icing as I made my way through the throng. At that moment, I caught sight of one of the waiters. Probably a student who was simply doing a shift, he seemed to be rather young. However, his eyes remained serene and friendly, even though he was in the midst of all the mayhem.
As soon as he saw that I was in a hurry to depart, he moved forward without uttering a single word and offered me a clean napkin. The only thing I could do was nod, so I did that. He did not gaze or inquire about anything. He did nothing except stand there, silently providing some solace – this was more than anybody else had been able to do all day.
After that, I hurried to our vehicle and turned around. I was not interested in the dance, the visitors, or the whispering that were going on. I only wanted to go out by myself.
Peter arrived at his house many hours later. The cake was still in my hair, and I was still sitting quietly on the side of the bed, wearing the tattered veil that I had been wearing. The last thing I did was relocate, adjust, or clean up.
He gave me a glance but did not utter a single word. “No” Are you feeling okay? No, I’m sorry. Not a single worry at all. On the contrary, he became enraged immediately, as if I were the source of the issue.
It was then that he snapped, “You embarrassed me out there.” Just kidding, that was a joke. Were you unable to handle it? Your sensitivity is very high. There is nothing I can do that will prevent you from going crazy. After that, you flee like a frightened little chicken while you’re terrified.
I made an effort to maintain my composure. I responded by saying, “I told you I hate pranks.” “You made a commitment that you wasn’t going to act in such a manner.”
His eyes were rolled back. Cake was all that was there; it was not a crime scene.
So that’s when I had the realization. He did not just make a mistake; rather, he made a crystal obvious decision to humiliate me in front of everyone who was important to me. And when I responded in the manner that any other person would, rather than apologizing, he blamed me for the situation. That was certainly the last straw.
The next morning, I decided to file for divorce.
He didn’t put up a fight, he didn’t beg me to remain, and he still didn’t explain anything. The only thing he did was shrug and say, “Fine. Possibly, I do not want to be married to someone who is incapable of laughing at himself.
My mother and father were devastated, not because the marriage had ended, but because they were aware of the amount of effort that I had put into making the relationship work well. I couldn’t believe how much of who I was I had lost along the road, just to be treated in such a manner.
It was weeks before I left my house. In addition to avoiding people, I also missed events, ignored calls, and erased every single wedding picture. I made an effort to get rid of the part of myself that had loved someone who was not deserving of my affection.
After some time, I began to feel better. What started out as just getting through the days eventually changed into a gradual process of finding calm. I was able to stop feeling sorry for myself and start recognizing who I really was. I prepared dishes that I enjoyed eating. During the evening, I went for lengthy walks. The only reason I purchased flowers was because I wanted to. One moment at a time, I started regaining all of the small bits of pleasure that Peter had stolen away from me via his actions.
After that, on a peaceful Friday evening, while I was scrolling through Facebook, my favorite program was playing in the background, and I saw that a message had shown on my screen.
“Good day. It’s likely that you don’t remember me, but I was one of the waiters at your wedding. Happy anniversary! I saw what took place. Simply put, you did not deserve it. I simply wanted to express that.
I was so shocked that I blinked at the screen.
It was him, the quiet waiter who had brought me the napkin on that particular day, all the while maintaining that calm and gentle expression even while everything else was going apart.
I smiled when I noticed that his name was Chris, and while I was not really sure what to say, I responded with something straightforward: “Thank you.” You have no idea how much it means to me.
What I was anticipating was nothing else.
However, he sent another message the next day. In addition, the day after that. In the beginning, our brief messages developed into genuine discussions, during which we discussed light topics such as books, movies, and his stress from graduate school (he was studying psychology and working weddings to help pay for it when we first started talking). Next, we expanded out even farther. When he was sixteen years old, he informed me about the death of his mother, and I related with him how I had experienced feelings of invisibility inside my own marriage.
Not once did Chris make an attempt to flirt or push anything. Simply put, he listened. I asked him questions that were significant, and he recalled the little things that I had told him. While I was telling him that I had resumed painting, which was something I hadn’t done in years, he responded by saying, “That is absolutely stunning. The act of returning to something that previously brought you a sense of vitality is courageous.
In the end, we decided to get together for a cup of coffee. It was nerve-wracking, but seeing him in person, with the same level of composure and friendliness, made me feel peaceful and secure.
Dates starting with coffee progressed into meals. After then, late-night phone talks that lasted for hours, lengthy walks, and trips to bookshops were all part of the routine.
One evening, when we were eating takeaway on the floor of his little apartment, I finally told him everything. I told him about how Peter would laugh at the things that I was uncomfortable about, and how he forced my face into the cake on the day that we were getting married.
Chris didn’t attempt to repair anything or disrupt the conversation. The only thing he did was reach out and softly hold my hand, as if it were something that was significant.
The words “I don’t think anyone has ever cared about me like this before” came out of my mouth in a low voice.
He gave me a grin as he gazed at me. On the other hand, they did not deserve you.
It is today that we are commemorating the tenth anniversary of our wedding.
This is a modest home with a yellow door, and we live in it. Even though neither of us is particularly skilled in the art of tomato planting, we do it every spring. When it’s raining outside, we settle down beneath the same blanket and watch old movies. He continues to work in the field of mental health and believes that assisting others in recover is his genuine purpose.
Occasionally, when I am washing the dishes, he will approach me from behind, wrap his arms around my waist, kiss the back of my neck, and murmur, “You still look better than that cake.”
And every time, I giggle because I now have a complete comprehension of what it is like to experience genuine love.
