He looked offended.
"I tore up a letter, Emily. I'm 82, not incompetent."
Despite everything, I laughed.
The gift had never legally become Ryan's.
Grandpa had already arranged for the money to be transferred directly to an account in my name. The letter he'd torn up only explained the gift. Destroying it hadn't changed anything.
He intended us to use it toward a home, but it was his gift to me.
"So Ryan couldn't have taken it?"
"No."
"Then why tear the letter?"
Grandpa smiled faintly.
"Timing."
Mom laughed too.
The next morning, I called an attorney.
I learned quickly that ending a marriage isn't as simple as saying the wedding shouldn't count because your husband acted like an idiot at the reception.
So I followed legal advice and separated from Ryan.
I didn't post the video. I didn't need to.
Several guests had seen everything, and Ryan's friends had filmed it.
Matt sent me his clip privately with an apology.
It started before the shove.
That mattered.
Ryan looked toward his friends.
One of them counted down with his fingers.
Three.
Two.
One.
Then Ryan turned toward me. "Ready?"
I smiled.
And he pushed.
I watched it once. Then sent it to my attorney.
Ryan spent the first week apologizing.
Flowers. Texts. Voicemails. Emails.
Then the apologies became arguments.
"You know I love you."
"You're throwing away five years over ten seconds."
"Everybody makes mistakes."
"You've embarrassed me too now."
That last one was almost impressive.
Then he blamed his friends.
Then alcohol.
Then wedding stress.
Then me for being too sensitive.
By the time he said, "Your grandfather poisoned you against me,"
I stopped responding.
Three weeks later, Matt asked to call.
