Humiliated at My Own Wedding,I Walked Away From the Billionaire

Daisy was still crying softly.

Evan bent his head to soothe her.

"It's fine. I'll handle it."

All at once I felt so tired.

If his way of handling it was to make my parents swallow their humiliation and see this thing through to the end.

To make me choke down my anger.

Then this wedding could end right here.

Before I could say a word, the emcee spoke up with a smile. "And now, we invite the bride and groom to serve tea to both sets of parents."

The staff had already half-nudged, half-escorted my parents up onto the stage.

The red stamp marks still weren't fully wiped off their faces.

The foundation was smeared into clumps, and the sweat at their temples had washed the color into streaks, making them look even more wretched.

Onstage, the Gilberts were seated front and center.

The lights were bright, and their chair backs were draped in festive red silk.

My parents had been placed off to the side.

Two low stools hauled over at the last minute, without so much as a red cushion.

When my father sat down, his knees nearly hit the corner of the table.

He drew his legs back awkwardly.

At some point Daisy had followed us up again.

She held a tray, smiling all sweetness.

"Jill, let me help you pass the tea."

I looked at her coldly. "No need."

Her eyes reddened at once.

Evan's brow furrowed.

"She only wants to help."

"Don't go embarrassing people up on this stage."

I looked at him.

And suddenly I remembered six months ago, when Evan took me to try on wedding gowns.

Daisy had tagged along.

One line from her, "This one's too plain, it doesn't suit a man of Mr. Gilbert's standing," and Evan had the clerk take away the very gown I loved.

I told him I'd spent months choosing that dress.

Evan just smiled.

"Daisy has good taste. Listen to her, you won't go wrong."

Later it was the same with the bouquet.

I wanted white lisianthus.

Daisy said red roses were livelier.

So Evan had them switched to red roses.

He said, "Daisy loves dressing up, she has good taste, she knows about these things."

But I was the one getting married.

So it turned out that from that moment on.

My wedding had already stopped being my wedding.

And now, even my parents' dignity wasn't theirs to keep.

Daisy passed the teacup over.

The tea was poured too full.

The steam stung my eyes.

I was just reaching to take it when her hand suddenly jerked.

Scalding tea splashed across the back of my father's hand.

His shoulder flinched hard from the pain as he scrambled to steady the cup.

"It's fine, it's fine."

"Don't spill it, don't hold up the children's tea."

My eyes flooded red in an instant.

Daisy clapped a hand over her mouth, dramatic.

"Oh, sir, I'm so sorry."

"I thought you'd be able to hold it steady."

"Are you maybe just too nervous?"

A few low chuckles rose from the crowd below.

Someone said under their breath,

"First time these country folk have seen anything like this, I bet."

"So out of their depth, aren't they."

My mother heard it.

The color drained from her face, but she still reached out to wipe the tea from the back of my father's hand.

"It didn't burn you, did it?"

My father shook his head. "I'm fine."

But the back of his hand had already gone red across a wide patch.

Those hands. I'd watched them my whole life.

Rough, broad, laced with tiny cracks.

When I was in college, money was tight at home.

He was afraid I'd feel small in front of my classmates.

Every month he wired me an extra five hundred dollars.

While he himself ate the cheapest boxed lunches on the construction site.

Once I came home and caught him crouched at the roadside, gnawing on a plain roll.

When he saw me, he hurriedly hid the roll behind his back.

And said with a smile, "I already ate."

Those hands that had held up half my life for me.

Now blistered raw from the scalding tea.

And still he was saying he was fine.