“Because my husband has your face tattooed on his shoulder.”
For several seconds she simply stared at me. Then she slowly lowered herself into the nearest chair.
“Ryan did what?”
My heart skipped a beat.
She slowly shook her head.
“No.”
Neither of us spoke for several moments. Then she looked down at her coffee.
“If Ryan still hates me,” she said quietly, “I understand.”
The sentence fit none of the scenarios I had imagined. Hates her? If she had been an ex, maybe. If she had broken his heart, perhaps. But then why tattoo her face onto his shoulder?
“How do you know him?” I asked.
A sad smile crossed her face. “I knew him a long time ago.”
That was not an answer. Before I could ask more, she stood.
“I should go.”
“Wait.”
“Who are you?”
For a moment I thought she might finally explain. Instead, she shook her head.
