— “Get out. Now,” he spat at him. The young man hurriedly dressed and left without looking back.

The bride tried to leave with the envelopes of money, but I stood in front of the door and snatched them from her hands.

“This money belongs to my family. You have no right,” I said coldly. In a few minutes, the yard was filled with curious neighbors, whispering:

“I told you… this wedding was weird…”

“Poor guy, at his age…”

My father-in-law staggered to his feet, went into his room, and locked it.

The sound of the lock was colder than the early morning wind. My husband and I gathered the discarded clothes and sheets, put them in a plastic bag, and left them in the entryway. The young woman—now my “ex-wife” after less than a day—stood, trembling, her gaze lost in thought.

Before leaving, she managed to whisper:

“I… I didn’t want to either… but…”

No one wanted to listen anymore. The door closed behind her, leaving a wedding night turned into a nightmare and a family with its honor shattered in front of the entire town. From that day on, my father-in-law never wore perfume or his impeccable suits again.

Now he spends his evenings sitting under the porch of the house, staring at the horizon, as if he had aged ten years in a single night.