I poured everything into my dream wedding, funding the venue, flowers, and photographer myself. Peter, my fiancé of three years, loved pranks, which I despised, but I compromised for love. I handled all planning; he barely helped, even sending invites late. The ceremony was beautiful, but at the reception, as I reached for the cake knife, Peter shoved my face into the cake. Humiliated, with frosting in my eyes and nose, I faced his laughter and cruel dismissal. Ignoring my pain, he called it a joke. A kind waiter handed me a napkin, offering quiet empathy. I
fled, later confronting Peter, who blamed me. I filed for divorce the next day. Heartbroken, I retreated, but slowly healed, rediscovering joy in cooking and walks. Months later, the waiter, Chris, messaged me, offering kindness. Our chats grew into coffee dates, then love. He listened, valued me, and restored my trust. Today, we’re married ten years, living in a cozy home, laughing over old movies. Chris’s gentle love showed me what I truly deserve.
