Just now, Ethan proposed. Nothing fancy—just us on my little apartment balcony, sharing a box of noodles and too much wine. The place Ethan proposed. Nothing fancy—just us on my little apartment balcony, sharing a box of noodles and too much wine. With shaking hands and a sheepish smile, he took out a ring while the city skyline twinkled behind him.
His request was answered before he could continue.
After that, everything went quickly. We plunged into wedding planning—nerdy, low-key, “us.” Ramen bars, themed drinks, and a lightsaber and wizard hat costume picture booth were our ideas. A wedding that made traditionalists cringe, but we loved it.
I drew fantasy villains and anime fights for indie publishers, while Ethan was a freelance software engineer. We didn’t make much, but nobody cared. Had each other. I thought we did.
Ethan invited me to meet his parents a few weeks into our engagement.
Her name was Veronica. He was never clear about her. The speaker described her as intense. “Opinionated but safe.”
Really, I wasn’t nervous. I valued first impressions and could captivate a difficult audience. I put on a lovely outfit, straightened my hair, grabbed a Pinot, and drove to her place with a nervous heart.
Her mansion seemed like a real estate magazine—pristine hedges, enormous columns, and a plane-landing driveway. After parking behind Ethan’s vehicle, I adjusted my clothing and climbed the stone stairs, practicing small chat.
It appeared like Veronica rehearsed her smile in the mirror as she opened the door.
“Oh, Lila! You seem nicer in person!” She smiled and tucked my hair behind my ear without asking. Is this natural?
“Uh… mostly,” I replied. Stress and dandruff shampoo.”
She laughed loudly, like I had made the year’s best joke.
Rich, layered homemade lasagna was eerily perfect for dinner. She served my drink and enquired about my job. I informed her about my comic convention costume as a dark fantasy manga villain. Someone chased me around chanting, “Dark Fairy Queen!” until security intervened.
Veronica heard. Even laughed. I wondered whether everyone misjudged her.
After supper, she asked Ethan nicely, “Darling, would you help me with something in the study? For a moment.”
He nodded. “Be back, babe.”
While they left, I cleaned up humming. Actually, I felt wonderful. Hopeful. Maybe we were creating something solid despite his frightening mother.
Ten minutes. On the back porch, Ethan seemed pallid and tight, like someone had hit him in the belly.
“What’s wrong?” I requested.
He scratched his neck and glanced down. “Lila, my mom doesn’t approve of this engagement.”
I blinked. Excuse me?
“She says to consider my future. I should be with someone who can support me financially, not someone who ‘draws cartoons’ and attends comic cons.”
He looked unrepentant. Just conflicted.
Your cute, but not wife-worthy, she remarked. You lack maturity. And I suppose… My thoughts are the same.”
It felt like my chest collapsed. “What are you saying?”
“I think we should call it off,” he whispered.
He couldn’t look at me straight.
My heart ripped open squarely. I didn’t shout. No tears.
I grinned.
If that’s what you want,” I said calmly, “I respect that. Can we have one last supper together? One appropriate goodbye?”
He seemed astonished. “Like for closure?”
“Exactly. Closure.”
He stopped, confused by my tone, then nodded. “Sure. “That sounds mature.”
“Great. The specifics will be texted.”
I reflected on what transpired on my sofa alone that night. Yes, I wept. I grieve. I had a plan by dawn.
I texted Diego, a local tattoo artist and one of my favorite people. We connected over fantasy comics years ago, and I drew numerous of his tattoos.
His reaction to my suggestion was immediate:
I adore this. Please emotionally wreck him.”
The supper was five days later. Ethan came early, hair gelled, shirt tucked, anticipating an emotional ambush or last appeal to win him back. I smiled calmly at him.
Homemade spaghetti with red wine. As in a romcom split, I played soothing jazz in the background. He relaxed fast. Way too fast.
“This is actually really nice,” he added, drinking wine. “I’m glad we’re adults about this.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
I rose after supper. Wait here. Have dessert.”
His expression was amused. Chocolate mousse?
Of course. A last present.
I put a tiny velvet package beside his dessert dish. His eyebrows rose as he peered down. What’s this?
“Something to remember me by.”
Diego’s studio business card and message were inside.
“For your first tattoo—something unforgettable. Fully paid.”
Ethan grins. You remembered! I’ve always wanted one.”
“I know. So I organized it.”
“Wow. Lila, this is lovely. Unexpected but sweet.”
“Like me.”
I grinned at his laughter.
Ethan visited Diego’s workshop the next day.
Diego said he felt happy, confident, and chatty. He told Diego he wanted something special that “marked the end of a journey.”
Diego cooperated. I told him he had a bespoke design at my request.
Ethan never requested the stencil. Just lay on the chair, shirt off, ready to be “inked for life.”
Two hours later, he left with a big black calligraphy tattoo on his upper back:
“Mama’s Favorite Investment—Veronica’s Property”
I almost spat up my coffee when Diego sent the picture.
I captioned it on Instagram without tags:
You want to demonstrate your devotion after your ex’s mom breaks up with you.
Someone quickly emailed it to Ethan.
My phone burst with angry texts. Veronica screamed in one voice memo: “It says WHAT?! That’s permanent?
I ignored the rest.
Ethan arrived at my residence later that week. I saw him pace, hands clinched, through the peephole.
“You tricked me!” he shouted. “That tattoo will take years to remove!”
I cracked the door. “Hi, Ethan.”
“You’re crazy! You know that? Psychotic!”
Tilted my head. “I’m immature, remember?”
Spluttered. “Do you know how much this will cost to fix?”
I answered, “I guess you’ll have to work harder,” smiling pleasantly. “Y’know, to find someone who brings more.”
He was shocked when I closed the door.
Veronica arrived the following day. I observed her through the blinds, rang the bell repeatedly. I remained silent.
I learned Ethan returned to his mother six months later. His freelance job had dried up, and laser treatment wasn’t quick enough to remove the “Veronica” branding on his back.
Now he uses dating apps. A buddy texted me a screenshot. His profile says he wants an ambitious, conservative lady. Closeness to mom is a plus.”
I practically fell off the sofa laughing.
As for me?
I’m dating Diego. Revenge makes great foreplay. Im creating a dark humor webtoon based on true events, and he calls me his favorite inspiration. Spoiler: “Ethan” has a distinctive tattoo.
Veronica was correct about one.
I wasn’t destined for that future.
I drew my superior one that was designed for me.
