“She.”
I frowned. Ryan looked at the tattoo.
“I chose her face because I never wanted to forget who paid the price for being right.”
“Or what happens when people choose the easy story instead of the true one?”
Silence.
Then he said, “I didn’t get the tattoo because I loved her.” His voice broke. “I got it because I couldn’t forgive myself.”
“I should have told you years ago.”
I looked at him.
“So why didn’t you do it?”
“Because every time you asked, I imagined having to explain what I had done.”
He looked down at the table.
“And each time, I chose the coward’s way out.”
For a long time, neither of us spoke. I kept looking at Ryan, trying to reconcile the man sitting across from me with the story I had just told.
Twelve years of marriage, and somehow I never got close to the truth.
Finally, I asked the question that had been bothering me since the bakery.
Ryan’s expression darkened immediately. He already knew the answer.
“She thought I still blamed her.”
