The strangest part came the next day.

Marianne woke up with a sore throat from laughing too hard, her husband snoring beside her. She rolled over, kissed him, and whispered, “Can you believe last night?”

He blinked at her. “Believe what?”

“The mariachi ringtone. The Harold cake. Your cousin’s punch bowl dive…”

But he only frowned. “What are you talking about? The wedding was perfect.”

She thought he was teasing, but as the day wore on, it became clear: he remembered nothing of the chaos. Neither did her parents, her bridesmaids, or any of the hundred guests. To them, the wedding had gone flawlessly veils in place, cake pristine, vows uninterrupted.

It was as though the entire messy, hilarious affair had been wiped clean from their memories.

Only she remembered.