Every time Ryan wore a tank top, there she was. Every time we went to the beach, she was there. Every time he turned over in bed, there she was.
Observing. Finally, curiosity won.
“Who is she?”
Ryan barely glanced at the tattoo. “Nobody.”
Not enough to start an argument, but enough to stick in my head.
Several years later, when we got engaged, I brought it up again. This time, she laughed.
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“So, who is she?”
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