Ryan barely looked at the tattoo. “Nobody.”
Not enough to start an argument, but enough to stay in my mind.
Several years later, after we became engaged, I brought it up again. This time he laughed.
“There isn’t some big story.”
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“So who is she?”
“My buddy was learning realistic tattoos. He downloaded a random photo online and needed somebody to practice on.”
“It’s the truth.”
Even then, I knew he was lying. I simply had no idea why.
After we married, the tattoo bothered me more and more. It was not because I suspected Ryan of cheating. It was because people do not permanently place a stranger’s face on their body.
Not like that. Not with that level of detail.
Eventually, I asked him to cover it. I was not asking him to remove it. I just wanted something else. A compass. A mountain range. A dragon. Anything.
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At first he agreed. Then the months slipped by. The tattoo artist moved. Money became tight. Work got busy. There was always another excuse.
Eventually, I stopped asking. Not because I no longer cared, but because I was exhausted. Exhausted from losing the same fight. Exhausted from feeling like I was competing with a woman whose name I did not even know.
So I taught myself to ignore her.
Or at least I believed I had.
Until last week.
I was waiting in line at a bakery when the woman standing in front of me turned slightly. My stomach dropped. I knew that face. Not from school, not from work, not from anywhere in my actual life.
For a moment, I honestly thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Then she turned a little farther. The same eyes. The same lips. Even the tiny beauty mark near her jaw. Older now, but undeniably her.
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My hands began to shake. I must have stared at her for nearly a minute. Finally, before I lost my courage, I stepped forward.
