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My maid of honor revealed something about me in her wedding toast that I had told her in absolute confidence on a kitchen floor at 1 AM, nine months earlier, while crying into a glass of wine I had not eaten enough to drink. She said it into a microphone. She said it in front of two hundred and forty people. She said it in front of my brand-new husband's very Catholic parents, who had flown in from Omaha and who, until 8:47 PM on the night of our wedding, had been an enormous fan of mine. My husband's father, a man named Dominic who had taken me aside at our rehearsal dinner to tell me that he was proud to be welcoming me into the family, turned a color I have never seen a human being turn. My husband's mother, a woman named Teresa who had given me her grandmother's rosary the Christmas after our engagement, stood up from her table and walked out of the ballroom. My husband — my brand-new husband of six hours, a man named August who I had promised to love for the rest of my life — did not stand up. He sat at the head table with his fork halfway to his mouth, and he turned his head, in slow motion, and looked at me. And he said, just loud enough for me to hear over the sound of two hundred and thirty-nine other people trying not to react, "Is she serious? Is what she just said true?"