Before anyone could react, the side door flew open and Wesley appeared in a rumpled tuxedo shirt, teary-eyed and covered in mud, to publicly confess in front of 175 guests that there was no honeymoon cruise because he had gambled away every cent of the $9,000 his mother had given him on online ball games.
As a shattered Mrs. Pruett sank into a folding chair and tore her offering envelope to pieces while whispering her deep shame, I generously handed her family ring back anyway, allowing her to stay, finish her meal, and watch me cut the cake at eight.
Though I never married Wesley—who spent that winter entering a recovery program and slowly repaying his debts—I eventually found true happiness with a kind man two years later, while Mrs. Pruett still sends me a loving Christmas card every single year.
