A few months before my wedding, my fiancé Dylan showed me a viral video of a groom dropping his bride into a pool. He laughed, joking about doing the same to me. I told him clearly: “If you ever do that, I’ll walk away.” He promised he never would.

On our wedding day, everything felt perfect—until we posed near the garden pool. Dylan dipped me, then suddenly let go. I plunged into the cold water, my dress ruined, makeup streaking, and guests stunned. Dylan laughed, high-fived his friends, and shouted about going viral. No apology, no concern—just amusement.

My father stepped forward, helped me out, wrapped me in his jacket, and told Dylan, “She’s done. So are you.” The reception ended immediately. Later, Dylan texted that I “couldn’t take a joke.” I blocked him.

The next day, my dad fired him from the family firm. Our marriage license hadn’t been filed, so there was no legal tie. As my dad put it: “You didn’t make a mistake—you made a choice. And you chose cruelty.”

I donated my dress and moved on. The real loss wasn’t the gown or the wedding—it was realizing he’d ignored a clear boundary for the sake of a laugh. I’ve learned love is built on respect, and if I ever marry again, it’ll be with someone who listens the first time I say, “Please don’t.”