Vanessa looked around.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that this wasn’t going to become the version of events she wanted.
“No,” she said quietly.
Her eyes moved from one guest to another.
“No, you didn’t.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
I looked at him.
“Is it?”
“Dad, this is my wedding.”
“Yes,” I said. “And that woman you just watched fall into the mud is your mother.”
He looked away.
That hurt more than anything Vanessa had done.
I had spent thirty-seven years teaching my son that a man’s character was revealed by what he did when nobody was watching.
Apparently, I had forgotten to teach him that character was also revealed by what he did when everybody was watching.
Margaret touched my arm.
“Thomas.”
I turned toward her.
Her eyes were wet.
“Please,” she whispered. “Let’s just go home.”
I wanted to.
God, I wanted to.
I wanted to put her in the car, take her home, make her tea, wash the mud from her dress, and pretend this entire afternoon had never happened.
But then I looked at the two hundred people standing around us.
They had watched my wife being humiliated.
