At my sister’s wedding, she insulted me during her toast: «My sister, a single mom, undesired by all.» The crowd chuckled. My mom chimed in, «A worn-out item!» Then the groom, Daniel, rose and seized the mic. The room went silent…

I pushed my chair back, my hands trembling. And then, from the head table, another chair scraped against the floor. Callum, the groom, stood up.

He looked pale. His jaw was tight. He took the microphone from Vivian without asking.

The room went silent. It was like the temperature dropped. No more laughter, no more whispers, just this stillness.

And I knew, whatever came next wasn’t part of the plan. Callum stood with one hand still resting on the table and the other clutching the microphone. His eyes were locked on me.

Not on Vivian, not on Judith, not on the laughing crowd, but on me. For a second, I thought maybe he’d make another joke, smooth things over, say something charming to diffuse the tension. That’s what people usually do in my family.

Brush it under the rug, pretend it didn’t happen, call it humor, call it tradition. But that’s not what he did. He didn’t smile.

He didn’t laugh. His face was tight with something I couldn’t quite read, anger maybe, but deeper, like disappointment mixed with disbelief. Before he could speak, I pushed my chair in and reached for Luca’s hand.

I was ready to leave, quietly, with grace. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry or break. I’d done it before.

I could do it again. But as I turned to step away, Callum’s voice rang out, low, firm, calm. Elara, don’t go.

That stopped me. Everyone turned toward him. Whispers swept the tables like a breeze through dry leaves.

Vivienne stiffened. Judith narrowed her eyes. The DJ reached toward the volume controls, but stopped when Callum raised a hand.

He didn’t look at anyone but me. I can’t pretend I’m okay with what just happened, he said. I won’t stand up here and let that kind of cruelty pass as comedy.

The room held its breath. Callum stepped out from behind the table and slowly walked forward. He wasn’t rushing.

Every step seemed deliberate, like he was pushing through the weight of the room. He stopped near our table, me, Luca, the now cold salad plates, and looked directly at the guests. I’ve heard a lot about family over the past year while planning this wedding, he said, about appearances, tradition, loyalty, but what I just saw wasn’t family.

That was mockery dressed up as celebration. The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Some people glanced at Judith.

Others stared at their drinks, but no one spoke. He turned to Vivienne. You mocked your sister for being a single mother, for raising a child without help.

You laughed, and worse, you made her son watch it happen. Vivienne opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Callum didn’t wait for her to answer…