Tyler had just proposed, and it wasn’t anything fancy. No fireworks, no big romantic speeches. Just him and me on my tiny balcony, surrounded by empty takeout containers, half a bottle of wine left between us.
He reached into his pocket with shaking hands, pulled out a ring, and grinned so wide it made my heart flip.
“Marry me?”
I didn’t even let him finish. “Yes!” I practically shouted, throwing my arms around him.
We started planning right away—a small, simple wedding. A ramen bar, a cosplay-themed photo booth, and just the people we loved. It was perfect for us.
He was a freelance web developer, and I was a graphic designer who spent way too much time drawing anime characters. We didn’t need anything grand. We just needed each other.
Or so I thought.
A few weeks into our engagement, Tyler decided it was time for me to meet his mom, Patricia. He’d been avoiding it, and honestly, I hadn’t pushed either. I’d heard stories. She was… opinionated. She had driven away his last girlfriend by grilling her about her finances like an IRS agent.
But I wanted to make a good impression. So I put on my nicest outfit, fixed my hair, grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir, and told myself, “You got this.”
Patricia greeted me at the door with a beaming smile. “Oh, Charlotte! You’re even lovelier than your pictures.”
She reached out and touched my hair. Actually touched it. “So shiny! What do you use?”
I blinked. “Uh… dandruff shampoo?”
She laughed like I had just delivered the best joke in the world.
Dinner was surprisingly nice. She made real lasagna, not the frozen kind, and she actually seemed interested in my work. I told her about a comic convention I went to last month where someone mistook me for Sailor Moon and followed me around yelling quotes from the show. She laughed.
By dessert, I started to relax. Maybe everyone had misjudged her.
Then she turned to Tyler with a syrupy-sweet voice. “Honey, could you help me with something in the bedroom?”
He hesitated. “Uh, sure.”
I smiled and started clearing the table. I was still humming to myself when Tyler came back ten minutes later, looking like he’d seen a ghost.
“Everything okay?” I asked, drying my hands.
He hesitated, then nodded toward the back porch. I followed him outside, my stomach twisting.
“Charlotte,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “My mom… thinks this engagement is a mistake.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
“She says you’re great but… not future material. That you don’t bring enough to the table financially. That… maybe she’s right.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to take it back. He didn’t.
“I think we should call it off,” he finally said.
I felt like the ground had been yanked out from under me. I should have left right then. Should have thrown my wine in his face and walked away.
But instead, I smiled.
“If that’s what you want, okay,” I said calmly. “But can we have one last dinner? A proper goodbye?”
He blinked. “Like, closure?”
“Exactly.”
Something in my voice must have seemed off because he hesitated. But then he nodded. “Yeah, sure. That sounds… mature.”
I smiled wider.
Idiot.
Over the next few days, I put my plan into action. I called Devon, a well-known tattoo artist and a close friend.
When I told him my idea, he didn’t hesitate. “Oh, hell yes. Let’s mess this guy up—emotionally, I mean.”
The night of our ‘goodbye dinner,’ Tyler showed up wearing cologne and his best shirt. He actually looked like he thought this was some kind of date. Like I’d end the night sobbing into his chest, begging him to take me back.
We had pasta and wine, soft jazz playing in the background. He relaxed. I even laughed at one of his jokes.
After dinner, I stood up. “I made chocolate mousse.”
His eyes lit up. “Seriously? You’re going all out for this.”
“Of course,” I said, placing the bowls on the table. I also set a small velvet box in front of him.
He raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“A gift. Something to remember me by.”
He opened it. Inside was a note: A little something to remember me by. And a tattoo voucher.
“A tattoo?”
“You always said you wanted one,” I said, sipping my wine. “A meaningful phrase on your back, remember?”
He looked touched. “That’s… wow, Char. That’s really mature of you.”
I smirked. “And you said I wasn’t mature enough.”
He laughed. “Guess I was wrong.”
The next day, Tyler showed up at Devon’s shop. My friend later told me he was practically bouncing with excitement. He said it was ‘refreshing’ to have a civil breakup. He lay down without even checking the stencil, trusting me completely.
Devon worked in silence for hours. Tyler left the shop beaming, unaware of what was now permanently inked onto his back.
Later that night, Devon sent me a photo, and I posted it to Instagram without tagging him.
The tattoo?
In bold, elegant script, it read: Property of Patricia – Mama’s Boy for Life.
By morning, my phone exploded with messages. Tyler. His mother. Screaming voicemails I didn’t bother listening to.
But the best part? Tyler showed up at my door, pounding on it.
“You tricked me!” he yelled. “That’s permanent! You’re insane!”
I opened the door, looked him dead in the eye, and smiled sweetly.
“Nah, I’m just ‘not future material,’ remember?”
I shut the door in his face.
Six months later, I heard he had to move back in with Patricia because his freelance work dried up. He was getting laser treatments, but the tattoo still left a faint scar.
As for me?
I’m dating Devon now. Helping a guy plan revenge really builds chemistry.
He calls me his muse, and I’ve been sketching a lot more while he inks the magic.
Patricia was right about one thing—I wasn’t built for that future.
But I sure as hell designed a better one.
