His mother thought I wasn’t good enough for her son. He listened to her and called off our wedding. So, for our last dinner together, I decided to give them both a going-away gift they’d never forget.
Tyler had just proposed to me. It wasn’t anything grand. Just him and me, sitting on my balcony with greasy takeout and too much wine, and suddenly there he was, holding out a ring to me with shaky hands and a smile so wide I didn’t even think twice.
An engagement ring on a woman’s hand | Source: Midjourney
I said yes before he could finish his sentence.
We started planning the wedding right away. Something small, low-key, with a ramen bar and a cosplay photo booth. It was perfect for us.
He was a freelance web developer. I was a graphic designer, making comics for independent publishers and spending a lot of time drawing anime scenes. We didn’t need a fancy place or a dozen matching groomsmen. We just needed each other.
Pencils on top of a sketchbook | Source: Pexels
Or so I thought.
A couple of weeks after we got engaged, Tyler said it was time for me to meet his mom, Patricia. He’d been putting it off, and honestly, I hadn’t pressured him to meet her either.
I’d heard things about her. Apparently, she was stubborn. She had good intentions most of the time, but sometimes she could be intense.
His sister once told me that he scared off his last girlfriend by asking her, point blank, what her savings account looked like.
An older woman with a serious face | Source: Midjourney
Still, I believed in first impressions, and I believed in myself. So I picked out some nice clothes, fixed my hair, grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir, and headed over to his house with the most positive attitude I could muster.
He lived in a large colonial-style house in one of those neighborhoods where the grass looks like it’s been cut with scissors.
I parked behind Tyler’s car (we’d driven separately because we were planning to move in together after the wedding), smoothed down my clothes, and walked to the door, repeating, “It’s just dinner. You can do it.”
A street full of parked cars | Source: Pexels
Patricia greeted me as if she’d been waiting to prove the rumors false. She had a big smile and showered me with compliments from the very first moment.
“Oh, Charlotte! You look even more beautiful than in the photos.” He touched my hair—really touched it—and said, “It’s so shiny! What are you wearing?”
“I… uh, anti-dandruff shampoo?” I replied. She laughed as if I’d said something clever. But as she led me inside her house, I started to think maybe everyone had misjudged her.
A bottle of shampoo | Source: Pexels
Dinner was lasagna. It was good. The real deal, no frozen nonsense. She offered me two plates, poured me the wine she’d brought, and asked me about my work.
I told him about the comic convention I’d gone to last month. I’d dressed up as my favorite manga character, and a guy followed me around, yelling something at me and calling me Sailor Moon.
Yes, that night I had to explain a lot to her and Tyler about the differences between manga and anime, but Patricia laughed and listened to me.
I was pleasantly surprised. So by the time dessert arrived, I’d started to relax. Ha. I should have known.
A woman smiling in a house | Source: Midjourney
When we finished eating, Patricia turned to Tyler and said sweetly, “Honey, could you help me with something quick in the bedroom?”
I blinked. “Do you need help moving something?”
He waved his hand. “Oh, no, just something. I won’t be a minute.”
I nodded, not really thinking much of it. When they left, I started cleaning up and washing the dishes. I hummed to myself the whole time, even smiling like a fool.
Someone washing dishes in a sink | Source: Pexels
Ten minutes later, Tyler emerged from the bedroom, looking like he’d seen a ghost. His eyes were wide open, his cheeks pale.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, drying my hands with a dish towel.
He nodded toward the kitchen door and stepped out onto the back porch. I understood he wanted me to follow him. Once outside, Tyler turned to me and sighed heavily before speaking.
A man with a worried expression | Source: Midjourney
“Charlotte… my mother thinks this engagement is a mistake.”
I visibly shuddered. “Wait, what?”
“He says I need someone… different. Someone with money, who can contribute more, so I don’t have to work so hard.”
I stared at him, feeling my heart pounding in my ears.
He continued. “He says you’re pretty, but not ‘future material’ or mature enough because you like cartoons. And honestly, I’ve been thinking the same thing. I think…” he paused, looking down at his shoes. “…we should break up.”
A person engrossed in reading a comic | Source: Pexels
A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I stared at him, wondering how the same man who had proposed to me two weeks ago was now repeating his mother’s nonsense as if it were holy.
I know what you’re thinking. I should have just left.
But I made one last move.
I smiled.
“If that’s what you want, fine,” I said gently. “But… can we have one last dinner together? A proper farewell. At my house. Alone.”
A smiling woman standing on a porch | Source: Midjourney
He blinked. “Like a closure?”
“Exactly. Close.”
He hesitated for a second. Maybe something in my voice triggered a wire in his brain. But then he nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Sounds… mature.”
“Okay, I’ll call you in a few days to arrange it.”
“Clear!”
Idiot.
That night I left with a big smile for Patricia, thanking her for everything. I admit I cried a little before going to sleep. But the next morning, I put my plan into action.
A sad-looking woman in bed | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t cry again. I didn’t call my friends to badmouth him or throw away the few things I’d left at home. I just focused on my goal and called Devon, a popular tattoo artist in town.
He was one of my best friends, and of course, we met through our love of comics and manga. Several of my tattoos were his work.
When I told him my idea, he didn’t hesitate. He simply said, “Oh, of course. Let’s annoy this guy… emotionally, I mean.”
A tattooed man in front of a tattoo shop | Source: Pexels
Our dinner took place a week after meeting Patricia. To my surprise, Tyler showed up wearing cologne and his best shirt, as if it were some kind of date.
He also gave me a half smile, as if he expected me to be crying on his shoulder by the end of the night, begging him to stay together.
I welcomed him. We ate pasta and wine while soft jazz played in the background. I even laughed at one of his jokes, and I could see him getting comfortable.
A plate full of pasta | Source: Unsplash
After dinner, I stood up and said, “I made chocolate mousse.”
His eyes lit up. “Really? You’re going to do it all for a farewell dinner?”
“Of course,” I said, placing two bowls on the table. I also placed a small velvet box next to his.
He looked at her. “What is this?”
“Just a gift so you never forget me.”
He opened it. Inside was a card: Something to remember me by. And a voucher for a tattoo.
Someone with a tattoo voucher | Source: Midjourney
“A tattoo?”
“You always talked about getting one,” I said, taking a sip of my wine. “A meaningful phrase on the back, remember?”
He looked excited. “That’s… wow, Char. That’s really… mature, I mean, incredible of you.”
I smirked. “And you said I wasn’t mature enough.”
He laughed. “I guess I was wrong.”
I smiled back. “I guess so.”
We continued talking. I explained that Devon was doing me a favor, and since Tyler knew him, he got even more excited. We said our goodbyes at the end of the night as if we’d be seeing each other often.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
But the next day, Tyler showed up at Devon’s shop. My friend later told me the guy was confused. He talked about how “refreshing” it was to have a civilized breakup. He said he was excited to finally do something just for him.
Devon had him lie face down and told him the design was significant. Something that would “make a mark.” But he also said he’d received strict instructions from me not to reveal anything until I was finished.
Tyler didn’t even ask to see the template.
An artist holding a tattoo needle | Source: Unsplash
Hours later, Tyler walked out of the shop with a fresh tattoo on his back, wrapped in plastic. I couldn’t even see it completely in the mirror, but Devon said he didn’t care and was smiling the whole time.
Finally, my friend texted me the photo, and I posted it on Instagram. I didn’t tag him, but it was only a matter of time before he saw it.
The tattoo was written in a nice, big black cursive font and said Property of Patricia – Mama’s Boy For Life
A man with a tattoo on his back | Source: Midjourney
In the morning, my phone was filled with voicemails from him and his furious mother, but I ignored them.
There were also hundreds of messages from my friends. They all thought it was hilarious.
But Tyler showed up at my apartment that afternoon, pounding on the door. “You tricked me!” he yelled. “It’s permanent! You’re crazy!”
I opened the door and looked him straight in the eyes. “No, I’m just not ‘future material’ or ‘mature,’ remember?”
A woman in an apartment, looking serious | Source: Midjourney
He stood outside my apartment, furious but frozen, so I shrugged and shut the door in his face.
Patricia also came once, but that time I didn’t open the door.
Six months later, I learned from a friend that Tyler had had to move back in with her because his freelance work had dried up. Apparently, he was also undergoing laser treatment, but the tattoo was still faintly there after several sessions.
Now, he’s reportedly still single and using dating apps. His bio reads: “Looking for someone who respects family values.”
A man with a phone showing a dating app | Source: Unsplash
Me too?
I’m dating Devon now. Helping a girl plot revenge really opens up your chemistry.
He calls me his muse, and lately I’ve been doing a lot of sketching for him while he inks the magic.
Patricia was right about one thing. I wasn’t cut out for that future.
But I’m sure I designed a better one.
A woman standing in a tattoo parlor, smiling and holding a sketchbook | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not the author’s intention.
The author and publisher do not guarantee the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters, and are not responsible for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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