His mother thought I wasn’t good enough for her son, and he listened to her and called off our wedding. So, for our last dinner together, I decided to give them both a parting gift they’ll never forget.
Tyler had just proposed to me. Nothing grand: just the two of us, sitting on my balcony, sharing wine and takeout. Then suddenly, he was holding out a ring, his hands trembling and a smile so wide that I didn’t hesitate for a moment.
An engagement ring on a woman’s hand | Source: Midjourney
I said yes before he could finish his sentence.
We immediately started planning the wedding. Something small and low-key, with a ramen bar and a cosplay-themed photo booth. It was perfect for us.
He was a freelance web developer. I was a graphic designer who made comics for indie publishers and spent too much time drawing anime scenes. We didn’t need a fancy venue or a dozen matching groomsmen. We just needed each other.
Pencils on top of a sketchbook | Source: Pexels
At least that’s what I thought.
A few weeks after our engagement, Tyler told me it was time I met his mother, Patricia. He’d been putting it off, and honestly, I hadn’t pushed for a meeting either.
I’d heard bits and pieces about her. Apparently, she had strong opinions. She meant well most of the time, but she could be intense sometimes.
His sister once told me that she scared off his last girlfriend by asking him, at full throttle, what his savings account looked like.
An older woman with a serious face | Source: Midjourney
Yet, I believed in first impressions and in myself. So I chose some nice clothes, did my hair, grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir, and headed to her house with the most positive attitude possible.
She lived in a large colonial-style house in one of those neighborhoods where all the lawns look like they’ve been cut with scissors.
I parked behind Tyler’s car (we had driven separately because we planned to move in together after the wedding), smoothed down my clothes, and walked to the door, repeating, ” It’s just dinner, it’s going to be okay.”
A street lined with parked cars | Source: Pexels
Patricia greeted me as if she had been waiting to prove the rumors false. She had a big smile and showered me with compliments from the start.
“Oh, Charlotte! You look even more beautiful than in the pictures.” She touched my hair—really touched it—and said, “So shiny! What are you using?”
“I… uh, anti-dandruff shampoo?” I replied. She laughed as if I’d said something intelligent. But as she led me inside her house, I began to think that maybe everyone had misjudged her.
A bottle of shampoo | Source: Pexels
Dinner was lasagna. It was good. The real thing, not the frozen kind. She offered me more, poured me the wine I’d happily brought, and asked me about my work.
I told him about the comic book convention I went to last month. I dressed up as my favorite manga character, and some guy followed me around, yelling something and calling me Sailor Moon.
Yes, that night I had to explain to her and Tyler the differences between manga and anime, but Patricia laughed and listened to me.
I was pleasantly surprised. By dessert time, I was starting to relax. Ha. I should have known.
A woman smiling in a house | Source: Midjourney
After they finished eating, Patricia turned to Tyler and said sweetly, “Honey, can you help me do something quick in the bedroom?”
I blinked. “Do you need help moving something?”
She waved her hand. “Oh no, just one little thing. It won’t take a minute.”
I nodded, not thinking much about it. Once they were gone, I started clearing up and washing the dishes. I was humming to myself the whole time, even grinning like an idiot.
Someone washing dishes in front of a sink | Source: Pexels
Ten minutes later, Tyler came out of the room looking like he’d seen a ghost. His eyes were wide and his cheeks had gone pale.
“Are you okay?” I asked, drying my hands with a cloth.
He nodded toward the kitchen door and stepped out onto the back porch. I knew he wanted me to follow him. Once outside, Tyler turned to me and let out a heavy sigh before speaking.
A man with a worried expression | Source: Midjourney
“Charlotte… my mother thinks this engagement is a mistake.”
I visibly flinched. “Wait, what?”
“She said I needed someone… different. Someone with money, who could bring more to the table, so I wouldn’t have to work as hard.”
I stared at him, feeling my heart pumping in my ears.
He continued. “She says you’re pretty, but you don’t have the makings of a future wife, or that you’re not mature enough because you like cartoons. And honestly, I thought the same thing. I think…” he paused, looking at his shoes, “…we should stop everything.”
A person engrossed in reading a comic book | Source: Pexels
My throat tightened. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just stared at him, wondering how the same man who proposed to me two weeks ago was now repeating his mother’s nonsense like it was gospel.
I know what you’re thinking. I should have left and never looked back.
But I made one last gesture.
I smiled.
“If that’s what you want, that’s fine,” I said softly. “But… can we have one last dinner together? A proper goodbye. At my place. Just us.”
A woman smiles as she stands on a porch | Source: Midjourney
He blinked. “Like some kind of closure?”
“Exactly. The end.”
He hesitated for a second. Maybe something in my voice triggered a thread in his brain. Then he nodded. “Yes. Of course. It sounds… mature.”
“Okay, I’ll call you in a few days to arrange that.”
“Of course !”
Silly.
I left that evening with a big smile for Patricia, thanking her for everything. I admit I cried a little before collapsing. But the next morning, I began my plan.
A woman in bed looking sad | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t cry anymore. I didn’t rant to my friends or throw away the few things he’d left at my house. I just focused on my goal and called Devon, a popular tattoo artist in town.
He was one of my closest friends, and of course, we met through our love of comics and manga. Several of my own tattoos were his work.
When I told him my idea, he didn’t hesitate. He simply said, “Oh, sure. Let’s get this guy all worked up—emotionally, I mean.”
A tattooed man standing outside a tattoo shop | Source: Pexels
Our dinner date took place about a week after I met 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 little half-smile, as if he expected me to be crying on his shoulder at the end of the evening, 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 he was comfortable.
A plate full of pasta | Source: Unsplash
After dinner, I got up and said, “I made a chocolate mousse.”
Her eyes lit up. “Seriously? Are you going out of your way for a farewell dinner?”
“Of course,” I said, placing two bowls on the table. I also placed a small velvet box next to hers.
He looked down. “What is it?”
“Just a gift so you never forget me.”
He opened it. Inside was a card: A little something to remember me by. And a voucher for a tattoo.
Someone holding a tattoo voucher | Source: Midjourney
“A tattoo?”
“You always talked about getting one,” I said, sipping my wine. “A meaningful sentence on your back, remember?”
He looked touched. “That’s… wow, Char. That’s really… mature, I mean, amazing of you.”
I smiled. “And you said I wasn’t mature enough.”
He laughed. “I guess I was wrong.”
I answered him with a smile. “I guess so.”
We continued talking. I explained that Devon was doing me a favor, and since Tyler knew him, he was even more excited. We said our goodbyes at the end of the evening as if we would be seeing each other often.
A man who smiles | Source: Midjourney
But the next day, Tyler showed up at Devon’s store. My friend told me later that the guy was giddy. He talked about how “refreshing” it was to have a civil breakup. He said he was excited to finally do something just for himself.
Devon had him lie on his stomach and told him the drawing was meaningful. Something that would “leave an impression.”
Tyler didn’t even ask to see the stencil.
An artist holding a tattoo needle | Source: Unsplash
A few hours later, Tyler left the store with a new tattoo on his back, wrapped in plastic. He couldn’t even see it all in the mirror, but Devon said he didn’t care and was smiling the whole time.
Eventually, my friend texted me the photo, and I posted it on my Instagram. I didn’t tag him, but it was only a matter of time before he saw it.
The tattoo was in beautiful, large, black cursive and read: Property of Patricia – Mama’s Boy For Life.
A man with a tattoo on his back | Source: Midjourney
In the morning, my phone was full of voicemails from him and his enraged mother, but I deleted them without listening.
There were also hundreds of texts from my friends. They all thought it was hilarious.
But Tyler showed up at my apartment that afternoon, pounding on the door. “You set me up!” he yelled. “This is final! You’re crazy!”
I opened the door and looked him straight in the eye. “Nah, I’m not one for forward thinking or maturity, remember?
A woman in an apartment, looking serious | Source: Midjourney
He stood right outside my apartment, furious but frozen, so I shrugged and closed the door in his face.
Patricia came once too, but I didn’t open the door that time.
Six months later, a friend told me that Tyler 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 faint after several sessions.
He is now said to be still single and using dating apps. His bio reads : “Looking for someone who respects family values.”
A man holding a phone displaying a dating app | Source: Unsplash
And me?
I’m dating Devon now. Helping a girl plan her revenge really opens up your chemistry.
He calls me his muse, and I do a lot of sketching for him these days while he inks the magic.
Patricia was right about one thing. I was n’t meant for this future.
But I’ve definitely designed a better one.
A woman standing in a tattoo parlor, smiling and holding a sketchbook | Source: Midjourney
Read also: My mother-in-law ruined every wedding she went to by dressing like a bride, but at my wedding, I taught her a lesson
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 story. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims regarding the accuracy of events or character portrayals and are not responsible for any misinterpretations. 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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