The Summer Everything Changed
That summer was brutal.
There was no breeze, not a single cloud. Just a blazing sun that made the sidewalks shimmer like hot oil. Every time I stepped outside, it felt like my skin might melt off. We ditched our comforter and used just a thin sheet. The fan never left my side of the bed.
Our five-year-old daughter, Carlie, basically moved into her kiddie pool. She ran around the house in her favorite mermaid swimsuit, pretending we lived at the beach.
And through all of this—the blazing heat, the sweating walls, the sleepless nights—my husband, Alex, wore long sleeves. Every day. At home. At the grocery store. Inside, outside. He never took them off.
At first, I thought maybe he was just feeling insecure about his body. Alex was always a little shy about things like that. But then I noticed something strange. Whenever I reached for his arm, he’d flinch. He started locking the bathroom door, even when it was just me in the house. He waited until I left the room to change clothes.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Ashton,” he’d say with a stiff smile. “Just got used to the layers, I guess. You know… for work and all that.“
But it wasn’t nothing. I knew it.
One night, I walked past the bathroom and heard him whispering on the phone.
“I’m not keeping it from Ashton forever, Mom.“
“She’ll understand when I tell her. I just need a moment. Let me figure it out, please.“
I froze outside the door. My heart thumped against my chest like a drum.
The next morning, while Carlie and I were making scrambled eggs, Alex walked into the kitchen smiling like nothing had happened.
“I’m heading over to my mom’s place,” he said, pouring himself a glass of water. “She needs help around the house. Carlie, do you want to come?“
“Too hot,” Carlie replied, twirling her spoon. “I’ll stay with Mommy and have popsicles.“
At first, I believed him. His mother, Angela, was dramatic enough to always need something. But still… every day?
Something felt off.
Alex stopped laughing with Carlie during bedtime stories. He stopped teasing me when I sang off-key in the kitchen. And me? He hadn’t touched me in nearly three weeks. Not a hug. Not a kiss. Not even a brush of the hand.
I felt like I was being slowly erased from his life.
Then came the moment everything changed.
I was in the kitchen making chicken and mayo sandwiches for Carlie and me. She sat at the table, coloring. When she got to drawing Alex, I noticed she added a little heart on his arm.
“Mom, can I have a pickle in mine?” she asked, holding up her sandwich.
“Of course, sweetheart. How’s your drawing going?” I asked, handing her the pickle jar. “Can you try drawing me with red hair? Mom’s thinking about a change.“
She giggled.
“Don’t be silly, Mommy.“
Then she tilted her head. “But Mom! Do you know why Daddy is hiding his tattoo from you?“
I stopped. My heart skipped.
“What tattoo, baby?” I asked slowly. “Dad doesn’t have any. I’d know!“
Carlie grinned, like she was sharing a secret.
“Mommmm, yes he does! He was lifting his shirt in the bathroom when I saw it.“
“Okay… what is it? Can you draw it for me?“
She shook her head.
“I don’t know how to write it, Mom. But it says, ‘My mommy Angela is my only love forever.’“
“Grandma wrote it, I think. It looks like my birthday card,” she said, giggling. “Isn’t that silly? You’re supposed to be Daddy’s only love!“
My whole body froze.
Angela. His mother.
The same woman who once told me I wasn’t “good enough” to have her grandchildren. The woman who wrinkled her nose at my wedding dress and said, “Second-best is still technically a prize.”
Now he had her name on his body?
And not just her name—but a full-blown love letter.
“My mommy Angela is my only love forever.”
In her handwriting.
I waited until that night.
We had tacos for dinner. Alex laughed like nothing had happened, sleeves rolled just high enough to almost show something.
“This weather is something else,” he said. “We really need to upgrade our AC.“
I wanted to scream. Instead, I waited.
After Carlie fell asleep, I followed him into the bedroom.
“Alex,” I said softly, “What’s on your arm? Did you hurt yourself? Please… tell me.“
His face drained of color.
“I… Ashton, I was going to tell you. I just…“
“So, it’s true?” I asked.
“What is?“
“The tattoo,” I said flatly.
He exhaled.
“Yes… but how did you know? Oh… Carlie.“
“She peeked into the bathroom and asked to see it.“
“Why didn’t you tell me?“
He sat down like his knees had given out.
“She told me she was dying, Ash. She said her doctor found something wrong with her heart. She begged me for something permanent. Said it would help her fight to stay alive. So I did it. I didn’t want to lose her.“
I sat next to him, stunned.
“And you didn’t ask for proof? You don’t even like tattoos, Alex.“
“I don’t hate them… I just never thought I’d get one. But she wrote it down. Said it would mean more in her handwriting.“
“Show me.“
He rolled up his sleeve. There it was—angry, red, and still healing. Her awful handwriting stared back at me:
“My mommy Angela is my only love forever.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“You haven’t even been taking care of it, have you?“
“I tried,” he said, wincing. “But the sleeves make it worse. It hurts, Ash.“
“Well, I guess Angela got her final gift, huh?“
“Don’t,” he muttered. “I need to sleep.“
I left the room.
That night, I sat under the stars with tea, wondering if Angela was really sick. I doubted it. That woman could outlive a nuclear war.
The next morning, I went to her house.
“I’m going to bring your mom some groceries,” I told Alex at breakfast.
“That’s thoughtful. Thanks, Ash.“
Angela opened the door wearing a silk robe, full makeup, perfect nails. She looked like she was headed to brunch, not dying.
“Ashton, what a… surprise,” she said.
“I heard your health was serious. I wanted to check on you,” I said, smiling sweetly. “I brought groceries.“
She blinked, then smirked.
“Oh, honey. I’m perfectly fine.“
Silence stretched between us.
“But I had to remind you… I’ll always be the first and most important woman in his life.“
Her smile was sharp as a knife.
I drove home numb.
That night, I watched Alex sleep, his shirt bunched at his shoulders. He looked peaceful.
And I burned.
I had cleaned his mother’s blood from our floor. Carried his child. Held this home together. And he gave her a love tattoo?
I sat beside Carlie’s bed and stared at her drawing. Alex had a superhero cape and that awful tattoo in her handwriting across his arm.
That’s the legacy he was leaving: a love twisted by control.
But what had I been giving myself? Excuses. Silence. Sleeves pulled over the truth.
I wasn’t hurt anymore. I was done.
The next day, I went to a tattoo studio.
“This isn’t your typical quote,” the artist said, eyebrows raised.
“I know,” I smiled. “It’s just for me.“
“I get it. Let’s get to work.“
Twenty minutes later, it was done. A tattoo on my collarbone.
That night, I sat on our bed in a tank top, gently touching the healing skin. Alex stood in the doorway, arms folded.
“You think you’ll regret it?“
“Not for a second.“
“I think I already regret mine,” he muttered. “Felt heavy when I got it. Now it just feels… stupid. Like a kid writing on himself.“
“Because that’s what it was, Alex. A kid’s move.“
He didn’t argue.
“I might get it covered. Something big. Maybe Carlie can help me pick.“
“You should. Unless you want to wear long sleeves forever.“
“Yeah, but… you know what that’ll do to her.“
“Maybe it’s time to show your mother you’re not a little boy anymore.“
I paused.
“And Alex. She lied. She admitted it to me. This was all about control. She’s perfectly healthy.“
He didn’t sleep in our bed that night.
It’s been three weeks.
I wear my tank tops. He still wears long sleeves.
My tattoo reads:
“Self-respect, my only love forever.”
I see him glance at it sometimes. He doesn’t say a word.
Carlie says she wants him to get a tattoo of a giraffe to cover it.
“We can name him Larry!” she laughed.
“A giraffe is a much better option,” Alex said with a smile.
I didn’t say anything. I just looked at my reflection, at the words inked across my skin, and smiled at myself.
Finally.
