“He said he should have found a less permanent way to learn the lesson.”
In fact, I laughed.
The sound surprised us both.
Then Ryan shook his head.
“What he said last was worse.”
“That?”
See the rest on the next page.
For several seconds he looked through the windshield.
Then he said in a low voice,
“Ryan, I forgave you years ago. You’re the one still carrying the burden.”
Neither of them spoke during the rest of the journey.
A month later, Ryan finally made an appointment with a tattoo artist. For years I wanted him to cover up the portrait. For years I’d found reasons not to.
This time, he made the appointment himself.
The night before, we sat together on the sofa. I found myself looking at the tattoo again. The same face. The same sad eyes. The same woman who had threatened our marriage.
I only understood it now.
Ryan looked at her.
He remained silent for a long time.
Then I was surprised.
“No.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
His thumb grazed the edge of the tattoo.
“I don’t think I need any more.”
Wait.
“For years I kept it because I thought it deserved that reminder.”
Her eyes remained on the portrait.
The words caught me off guard. A year earlier, they would have started another fight.
Not now.
Because the tattoo was no longer a secret. It wasn’t another woman. It wasn’t a lost romance. It wasn’t a lie.
It was a reminder.
A painful and ugly one.
But honest.
For the first time since she’d known him, Ryan wasn’t hiding it. And for the first time since she’d known him, he wasn’t competing with her.
The next morning, she canceled the appointment.
A week later, Sloane sent us a photograph by mail.
Not of herself.
She was showing a youth resource center that she had helped create for teenagers facing crises at home.
The building was simple.
But it was full.
