Melissa stood near the aisle. Instead of defending us, she covered her mouth and let out a small laugh, as if embarrassed amusement was the safest reaction. Not horror. Not outrage. Just a laugh.
Something inside me broke quietly.
I pushed my chair back and stood. The scrape of wood against marble echoed across the silent room. All eyes turned toward me.
I walked slowly toward the center, past tables filled with people who now looked uncertain. I took the microphone from Richard without a word. His smile faltered.
I faced the crowd.
“This wedding will not happen,” I said. My voice trembled but carried clearly. “I will not marry into a family that finds joy in humiliating the man who raised me.”
Gasps rippled through the guests. Paula blinked rapidly. Richard tightened his jaw.
Melissa hurried forward.
“Brandon, please,” she whispered. “They did not mean it like that. They are just joking.”
I shook my head.
“No. Jokes do not make my father look small to make you feel tall.”
I walked toward my father and placed my hand on his shoulder. His warmth grounded me. His eyes met mine, calm and deep.
“Dad,” I said softly. “I am sorry you had to hear that.”
He smiled faintly.