I got into the church by walking in with a group of late-arrival guests. Nobody checked names at the door of a Catholic wedding in Savannah — it is the South, people show up, people sit in back pews, nobody cares. I sat in the back-left pew with a woman who I later learned was Hunter's second cousin's wife from Augusta. She did not know who I was. She made small talk. I made small talk back. The ceremony started at 2 PM. It was beautiful. The music was good. Meredith walked down the

aisle in a dress that I will not describe because it is not mine to describe and she did not consent to be in this story. Hunter stood at the altar looking at her like he was not, at that moment, already legally married to a woman in Phoenix who was on the phone with me as recently as Wednesday. The priest said the vows. He got to the sentence. He said the words. And I stood up. Before I had fully stood, I could feel the cousin's wife next to me lean sideways, hissing "what are you doing." I did not answer her. I walked out into the center aisle. I held up the folder. I said what I said.