August's parents, Dominic and Teresa, eventually came back to the reception that night. They came back forty minutes after walking out. Teresa hugged me at the end of the night and said, in a voice that was quiet and kind, "We love you. This was not our business. I am sorry we walked out." That meant — and still means — more to me than I have the words to describe. August and I have been married for nineteen months. We are happy. We are, in fact, pregnant with our first child. I have not seen Cecile. I will probably never see Cecile again. She is still, on my mother's Instagram, tagged in photos from our high school prom. My mother has not taken them down. I have not asked her to. I am turning thirty-four next month. I have, for the first time in my life since I was twenty-two, a husband and a future and a small, fragile thing kicking inside of me that is, every day, bigger than the secret that, on the night of my wedding, was supposed to stay mine. So tell me honestly — was walking out of the reception the right thing to do, or should I have held the wedding together through to the end?
Should I have walked out of my own wedding, or was that too dramatic?
* Story inspired by real-life situations. Names and details have been changed for privacy.
