The sound surprised both of us.
Then Ryan shook his head.
“The last thing she said was worse.”
“What?”
For several seconds he stared through the windshield.
Then he quietly said,
“Ryan, I forgave you years ago. You’re the one who’s still carrying it.”
Neither of us spoke for the rest of the drive.
A month later, Ryan finally scheduled an appointment with a tattoo artist. For years I had wanted him to cover the portrait. For years he had found reasons not to.
This time, he made the appointment himself.
The night before, we sat together on the couch. I found myself looking at the tattoo again. The same face. The same sad eyes. The same woman who had haunted our marriage.
Only now, I understood.
Ryan looked down at it.
For a long moment he remained silent.
Then he surprised me.
“No.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
His thumb brushed the edge of the tattoo.
“I don’t think I need to anymore.”
I waited.
“For years, I kept it because I thought I deserved the reminder.”
His eyes remained on the portrait.
The words caught me off guard. A year earlier, they would have started another fight.
Now they did not.
Because the tattoo was no longer a secret. It was not another woman. It was not a lost romance. It was not a lie.
It was a reminder.
A painful and ugly one.
But an honest one.
For the first time since I had known him, Ryan was no longer hiding from it. And for the first time since I had known him, I was no longer competing with it.
The next morning, he canceled the appointment.
A week later, Sloane mailed us a photograph.
