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I walked into my groom’s hotel suite wearing my wedding dress and found my mother barefoot beside his bed. Michael stood with his white shirt half-open, his face completely drained of color, while my mother, Monica, hurriedly pulled the strap of her silk blouse back onto her shoulder. Her heels were beside the nightstand, her lipstick was smeared, and one of the silver cufflinks I had given Michael was lying on the carpet. Downstairs, nearly two hundred people were sitting beneath white hydrangeas waiting for me to marry him.