Chapter 3

The comments under the post were nothing but praise:

"Wow, you're so brave, this is basically a legend charging in alone."

"A role model for the modern woman."

"Queen, teach me your ways."

"I hereby crown you the empress of our generation."

Some people questioned it:

"But doesn't this completely destroy the groom's family's face? Won't it leave a permanent grudge?"

"I think it went a little too far too. Couldn't you have said it privately? Why humiliate your husband and his parents in front of that many people?"

A woman who called herself a three-time divorcée fired back:

"What do you naive little girls know?"

"I think this is exactly how a woman should act. If you don't put the man's family in their place now, they'll never respect you later."

"I'm telling you from the blood and tears of two divorces, what she did was completely fine."

"You have to get a firm grip on them before the wedding and establish authority, or those so-called in-laws will walk all over you!"

I closed the comments and scrolled through her other posts. Every single title stung.

I read through the whole night.

The more I read, the worse I felt.

The next day, at what was supposed to be a joyful wedding, I really was in a daze.

My head was full of the things I'd read on Instagram the night before:

[A woman has to be independent. Learn to say no to your boyfriend.]

[Going childfree is the best choice a woman can make.]

[Why it matters to be a modern, childfree, independent, refined woman!]

The words childfree and independent showed up in her posts over and over.

And a question kept circling in my head.

If she wanted to be childfree, wanted to be independent, then why get married at all?

We got to the hotel, and the ceremony went smoothly.

Until the emcee said:

"Would the bride and groom please come forward together."

According to what we'd agreed on beforehand, the bride's father would walk her up to the stage, then hand her over to me, and I'd take her hand and walk her to the emcee.

But after Willow's father brought her onto the stage,

Willow looked at my outstretched hand and said coldly:

"No need to hold hands. I can walk myself."

I said:

"But this is how the emcee planned it."

Willow said impatiently:

"Who does the emcee think he is?"

"I said no hand-holding, so no hand-holding."

Under the eyes of forty-some tables of family and friends, all I could do was follow her toward the center of the stage, feeling the awkwardness of it.

The emcee moved through the sequence.

We reached the ring exchange.

The emcee said:

"Ms. Willow Henson, do you take this man to be your husband, to enter into this marriage with him? In sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and for any other reason, will you love him, care for him, respect him, accept him, and stay forever faithful to him until the end of your life?"

All she had to say were a few simple words.

Instead, she frowned and said:

"You people are honestly hilarious."

"A wedding is a wedding. Why are there so many questions? If I didn't want to marry Martin Gilbert, would I even be here?"

"What's the point of asking all this nonsense? Just exchange the rings and be done with it."

The emcee gave an awkward smile:

"It's part of the ceremony. It's a blessing for the couple, and a vow of faithfulness to your love."

"What garbage vow is this?"

Willow said loudly: "Let me ask you this. If your wife or husband turned out disabled, sick every single day, so poor they were begging on the street, someone that pathetic, would you keep loving them, caring for them, respecting them, never leaving, right up until the end of their life?"