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And I sat there, still in my dress, still sticky with frosting, wondering if my marriage had ended before it had even begun.
The next morning, he came back.
Not defensive. Not amused.
Just… tired.
“For the first time, I understand what I did,” he said. “I thought it was funny. It wasn’t. I humiliated you. I’m so sorry.”
No excuses.
I didn’t forgive him immediately.