Chapter 1: The Toast
My groom raised his first toast to his ex-wife and blew her a kiss because "she taught him how to love"—I was still holding my untouched champagne when my father stepped toward the DJ booth.
When Paul told me he wanted his ex-wife, Amanda, at our wedding, I said no.
Not because I thought he'd run away with her.
They'd divorced six years earlier, had no children together, and Paul insisted they were simply "two adults who ended things without hating each other." Half their old friend group still included her.
"She's part of my past, not my future," he promised.
Eventually, I agreed.
Amanda arrived in a fitted champagne-colored dress, hugged Paul for several seconds, then smiled at me.
I tried not to let it bother me.
The ceremony was wonderful.
Paul cried during my vows, squeezed my hands, and whispered that he'd never been happier.
Then came the reception.
My father, who had spent eighteen months helping us plan the wedding, sat beside me beaming.
He'd even arranged a private surprise with the DJ for later that evening, though he refused to tell me what it was.
Then Paul stood for the first toast.
I lifted my champagne, expecting him to turn toward me.
"I need to thank someone before anything else," he said.
I thought it would be me or his parents.
Instead, he looked across the room.
At Amanda.
My smile disappeared.
Paul raised his glass toward her.
"Amanda taught me how to love.
She taught me what partnership means, what forgiveness means, and, honestly, without her, I wouldn't be the man standing here today."
A few people laughed awkwardly.
Amanda pressed one hand dramatically to her chest.
Then Paul grinned and blew her a kiss.
At our wedding.
I was still holding my untouched champagne flute.
He finally turned toward me.
"And now I get to take everything Amanda taught me about love and give it to you."
He leaned down to kiss me.
I turned my face.
"Paul, seriously?"
His smile tightened.
"Don't ruin this.
It was a compliment."
"To whom?"
Across the table, my father quietly set down his glass.
He hadn't said a word.
"Dad?" I whispered.
He stood.
Paul noticed immediately.
"Where's he going?"
My father walked straight past our table and toward the DJ booth.
He leaned close and whispered something.
The DJ's expression shifted.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Dad nodded.
Then the DJ reached beneath his console and pulled something out.
Across the room, Paul saw it.
His face drained of color.
"No," he said, shoving his chair back.
"Don't let him do that."
---
What did my father just hand the DJ — and why did Paul go pale the moment he saw it?
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