Months before the wedding, I was folding laundry on the couch while my fiancé sat beside me scrolling through videos. Every few seconds he’d snort with laughter, the kind that makes your shoulders bounce. I looked up and saw his screen: a groom holding his bride over the edge of a pool, the guests cheering, the bride screaming, and then—splash.
He laughed like it was the funniest thing on the planet.
I didn’t laugh.
I stared at him until he finally noticed and lowered his phone. “What?” he asked, still smiling.
“That better never be you,” I said. “If you ever do that to me, I’ll walk.”
He rolled his eyes like I was being dramatic. Then he reached for my hand, squeezing it with that practiced softness he used when he wanted to smooth things over.
“I swear,” he said. “I’d never do that to you.”
I believed him.
Because I wanted to.
Because love makes you generous with trust, even when you shouldn’t be.
The months passed in a blur of wedding planning. Seating charts, floral samples, dress fittings, late-night talks about our future. He kissed my forehead when I stressed out. He told me I was beautiful when I felt exhausted. He promised me, again and again, that our wedding would be perfect.
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