The room, for exactly thirteen seconds, made no sound at all. I am not exaggerating about the thirteen seconds. I counted them later, because I watched the video — I made Cecile's boyfriend delete it, but I watched it once first, three days after the wedding. Thirteen seconds of silence, in a ballroom of two hundred and forty people, on the night of my wedding. And I watched August's face, at the head table, go from confused, to horrified, to empty. I watched Dominic, his father, stand up. I watched Teresa put down her napkin and walk out. I watched my own mother, at the parents' table, put her forehead down on her wrist. I watched my sister, at the bridesmaids' table — Cecile was not her, my sister was my second of four bridesmaids — put her hand over her mouth. And I watched Cecile, standing with the microphone in her hand, smile at me from across the room like she had just given me the best possible gift. She thought she had. She genuinely, in that moment, believed she had done something loving. I will have to deal with that part for the rest of my life.