He walked over to Dylan, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. My father, always the epitome of grace and dignity, approached me first. He helped me out of the pool, his expression softening as he whispered, “Are you okay, sweetheart?” I nodded, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure how I felt.

Then, turning to face Dylan, my father did something that stunned everyone. He calmly removed his jacket, handed it to me, and then—to everyone’s shock—pushed Dylan into the pool. There was a collective gasp followed by an awkward silence. Dylan resurfaced, sputtering and disoriented, his previous smugness replaced with disbelief.

The tension hung thick in the air, but my father, never one to leave things unresolved, addressed the gathering crowd. “Weddings are about respect and love. While a little humor has its place, there’s a fine line between a joke and humiliation. Let’s remember that.”

His words resonated with everyone present, and slowly, the mood shifted. Laughter erupted, but this time, it was directed at the unexpected turn of events rather than me. The situation was defused with my father’s intervention, and as Dylan climbed out of the pool, he sheepishly apologized, acknowledging his mistake.

The rest of the day took on a different tone. Dylan, humbled and a bit soggy, made amends in his own way, ensuring that the rest of the day was about us and the love we shared. He even planned an impromptu dance in the garden, beneath the stars, where we shared a moment of intimacy and understanding, away from the prying eyes of our guests.