Not an “oh no” laugh.
Real laughter.
His laughter.
He was standing at the edge of the pool with his hands raised, already turning toward his friends like he’d just scored the winning point in a game. Two of them were high-fiving him, clapping his shoulders, pointing at me like I was the punchline.
My fiancé—my husband—was grinning like a child who’d pulled off a prank.
“IT’LL GO VIRAL!” he shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear. “That was perfect!”
For a second I thought I might throw up.
Because the worst part wasn’t the wet dress or the ruined makeup or the cold water in my hair.
The worst part was that he wasn’t worried.
He wasn’t sorry.
He wasn’t reaching for me.
He was celebrating.
People around the pool reacted in waves. Some guests laughed like they didn’t understand how wrong it was. Some covered their mouths, eyes wide. Someone muttered, “What the hell?” like the words slipped out before they could be polite.
I was still in the water, struggling to keep my dress from pulling me under, and my husband was acting like he’d done something clever.
My chest ached with something sharper than heartbreak. It felt like humiliation and betrayal had fused into one heavy stone and dropped straight into my stomach.
I didn’t cry right away.
I just stared.
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