Brent dropped to his knees on the wet tile, begging me not to overreact. His laugh had disappeared completely. Then one of his friends, Kyle, lowered his phone and said quietly that Brent had bet them five hundred dollars he could get me in the pool before the cake. He had also bragged all week that once the license was filed, my grandfather’s ranch would basically be his. Brent didn’t deny it. He just kept saying it was a joke.

I climbed out of the pool, my soaked gown dragging behind me, and took the license from my grandfather’s hand. I looked at Brent for a long moment. Grandpa nodded once, and that was enough. Then I tore it in half, and in half again, and dropped the pieces into the water he had pushed me into. Because the license was never filed, we were never legally married. There was nothing to annul.

My aunt wrapped me in a towel, and Grandpa asked the band to keep playing. The guests stayed. Brent and his friends were asked to leave by the venue manager, who had seen everything. That night, still in a borrowed sweatshirt, I danced with my grandfather under the string lights. It was the best part of the whole day. He told me my father would have been even prouder of me now than he was that morning.

Kyle deleted the video and sent me a long apology a week later. Brent’s family returned every wedding gift with a note of their own. I haven’t spoken to Brent since. I had my gown professionally cleaned and donated it to a charity that gives dresses to brides who can’t afford one. Grandpa still keeps the empty brown envelope in his desk. He says it’s the best wedding present he ever gave anyone.