The hall erupted in laughter. It wasn’t warm laughter; it was the cruel, sycophantic laughter of people who fear a powerful man. I saw my son’s face crumble. The blood drained from his cheeks, leaving him ghostly pale. His hands, resting on the white tablecloth, began to tremble uncontrollably. He looked down at his plate, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

I felt my legs go numb. No one else seemed to care. Everyone was laughing, drinking, toasting as if humiliating a groom at his own wedding was top-tier entertainment.