When I got married, I went to work the next day, as usual.
On the morning of my wedding, I had been told I was not allowed to wear my white dress and veil, so had to make do with an old and ugly navy Crimplene suit. This was my father's ultimatum for coming to the wedding at all.
I had no flowers, no photos and certainly no happy reception afterwards. My crime was to marry a Catholic against my parents' wishes.
His parents were not so rigid but did not like the fact (any more than we did, especially as I was a regular church-goer) we'd been forced to choose a Registry Office.
The look on my husband's face (he was in his naval uniform) when I arrived in that awful navy suit nearly broke my heart.
It was probably the most miserable day of my life and to make matters worse, my husband and I were wedding photographers, going to other peoples joyful weddings and recording what we had so much wanted for ourselves.
It still hurts, all these years later.
I'll never know how people who are supposed to love you can be so cruelly insistent on hurting.