Kayla had wanted the tattoo for almost a year.
It was not a spontaneous anniversary gift, though Owen had begun describing it that way. It was something she had considered through months of caring for her father after surgery, changing jobs, and realizing how often she apologized before asking for help.
She apologized to nurses for calling.
She apologized to coworkers for being tired.
She apologized to Owen when dinner was late, even on evenings when he arrived home before her.
One night, her friend Miriam stopped her in the middle of another apology.
“You’re allowed to need things.”
Kayla had laughed.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
The question stayed with her.
Enough became a word she wrote in the corner of her planner. Eventually, it became the tattoo she wanted on her left forearm, in a small script she could read herself.
She researched studios, looked through portfolios, and chose Casey because her lettering was delicate without being difficult to read.
Their consultation was pleasant.
Casey asked about size, placement, and whether Kayla wanted the word facing inward.
“For me,” Kayla said.
“Then we’ll orient it for you.”
Owen offered to drive her on the appointment day.
He also offered to handle the deposit while she was helping her father.
Kayla thanked him.
She had mistaken access for support.
At the studio, Casey showed her the stencil in the mirror. The word was small, pale violet, and reversed in the reflection. Kayla checked the position and the curve of the lettering.
She did not expect to verify whether her husband had replaced an entire word behind her back.
Owen stood beside her, smiling.
“That looks good.”
Now she remembered those words.
He had watched her approve the placement of a name he knew she had not chosen.
He had stood there throughout the appointment.
He had let her thank him for coming.
