“My friend was learning realistic tattoos. He downloaded a random picture from the internet and needed someone to practice on.”
“It’s true.”
Even so, I knew he was lying. I just had no idea why.
After we got married, the tattoo started bothering me more and more. It wasn’t because I suspected Ryan was cheating on me. It was because people don’t tattoo a stranger’s face on their bodies forever.
Not like that. Not with that level of detail.
Finally, I asked her to cover up the tattoo. I wasn’t asking her to remove it. I just wanted something else. A compass. A mountain range. A dragon. Anything.
At first, he agreed. Then months passed. The tattoo artist changed. Money was tight. The work became more intense. There was always a new excuse.
Eventually, I stopped asking. Not because I didn’t care anymore, but because I was exhausted. Exhausted from missing out on the same conversation. Exhausted from feeling like I was competing with a woman whose name I didn’t even know.
So I learned to ignore it.
Or at least that’s what I thought.
Until last week.
I was standing in line at a bakery when the woman in front of me turned slightly. My stomach churned. I knew that face. Not from school, not from work, not from anywhere in my life.
For a moment, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Then she turned a little more. The same eyes. The same lips. Even the small mole near her chin. She’s older now, but she’s still her.
My hands started to tremble. I must have stared at her for almost a minute. Finally, before I lost my nerve, I took a step forward.
“Excuse me.”
