During the wedding, my husband pushed me into the cold pool and started laughing loudly — I couldn’t take it anymore and did this… 😢😢

It was the day I had dreamed of since childhood. Everything — down to the last napkin on the table — had been planned well in advance. The snow-white dress, the sparkling hairstyle, flawless makeup, the delicate bouquet in my hands — I felt like the heroine of my own story. My husband and I had just exchanged our wedding rings, and the restaurant hall echoed with applause. The wedding was going perfectly.

In the restaurant’s courtyard, there was a small fountain — an interesting design idea. The water was clear and cold, flowing slowly, adding a refined touch to the summer atmosphere. I had even thought that some beautiful photos would come out next to the fountain.

When it was time to cut the cake, all the guests gathered around us with their phones ready. There were shouts of “Amar!”, laughter, music. I took the knife, my husband placed his hand over mine — and we began to cut the first slice. Right then, he suddenly lifted me up, unexpectedly.

At first, I smiled, thinking he wanted to lift me romantically. But in seconds, I realized — he wasn’t heading toward the table or the dance floor, but… toward the fountain.

I didn’t even have time to scream. In an instant, my dress stuck to my body, water filled my shoes, my hair ran down my face, and my makeup smeared. The water was icy cold, despite the summer heat. The guests froze. Some tried to hide their smiles, others were left open-mouthed.

And he… he laughed. Loudly, from the heart. He thought it was funny.

Me? No. It hurt, and I felt humiliated.

I had prepared for this day for months. The dress cost me nearly half a year’s salary. The makeup, the hairstyle — everything was perfect. I dreamed this day would be a magical memory. And now I was standing in cold water, soaked, lost, and ashamed.

I got out of the fountain trembling, drenched to the skin. Tears mixed with drops of water on my cheeks. My husband was still laughing, saying something to his friends like, “That was epic, wasn’t it?”

But I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

And then, I couldn’t take it anymore and did something I don’t regret at all.

I slowly approached the table, feeling all eyes on me. My dress hung heavy, stuck to me, and my steps left wet marks on the floor. In one hand, I held the bouquet — now crumpled, wet, but still beautiful.

My husband, still amused by his “joke,” stood by his friends, holding a glass of champagne. I felt something inside me break. This wedding was no longer about happiness, about us, about the promises from the morning. It was about his lack of respect.

I walked up to him, looked him straight in the eyes, and without saying a word, I poured my glass of champagne over his expensive suit. Then I took a big slice of cake and pressed it right onto his face.

The room went silent for a few seconds. Then, someone from my family started clapping. At that moment, I realized I wasn’t the only one who thought his joke had crossed a line.

He stood stunned, whipped cream running down his cheeks. He took off his wet jacket, trying to force a smile, but in his eyes, I saw shame.

I felt my strength grow. It wasn’t just about the fountain or the dress, but about the man I married that day putting me, in front of everyone, in a humiliating situation.

I went to my mother, who held a large towel for me, and wrapped myself in it. The guests slowly dispersed, and the party lost its earlier energy. But inside me, a feeling of determination grew.

That evening, after everyone left, he tried to joke again, saying, “We’ll remember this for the rest of our lives.” I replied calmly:

— Yes, I’ll remember. And it makes me wonder if I want to remember every day with you the same way.

I didn’t let him touch me. I slept in another room. The next day, I told him that if he wanted us to stay together, he had to understand that respect isn’t optional and that love doesn’t mean humiliation.

I don’t know what will happen to us next. But I know for sure that, that night, I chose not to be the victim of my own love story anymore, but the woman who defends her dignity — even on her wedding day.