Then I asked everyone to leave.
Maya hugged me at the door.
“You can come home with me,” she whispered.
“Not yet.”
I wanted one answer from my husband.
Why?
When the door closed, Jake began clearing plates.
I watched him stack them carefully.
As though our marriage hadn’t just cracked open.
“Leave those.”
He stopped.
“You knew what that tattoo meant.”
“I do.”
“Then why were you discussing getting rid of it?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Mom thinks it looks unprofessional. I said maybe we could look into having it redone. She ran with it.”
“Redone at a removal clinic?”
“Stella, please.”
“Did you tell her I wanted it removed?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her I didn’t?”
Silence.
That was my first answer.
I remembered the sleeved dresses he’d suggested.
The jacket he’d draped over my shoulders before his cousin’s wedding.
All those little gestures I’d called thoughtful.
“Have you always wanted me to cover it?”
