His mom thought I wasn’t good enough for her son, and he actually listened to her and called off our wedding. So, for our last dinner together, I decided to give them both a goodbye present they’d never forget.

Tyler had just proposed. It wasn’t anything grand. Just him and me, sitting on my balcony with greasy takeout and too much wine, and then suddenly there he was, holding out a ring with shaking hands and a smile so wide I didn’t even think twice.

I said yes before he could finish his sentence.

We’d started planning the wedding right away. Something small, 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.

A couple of weeks into our engagement, Tyler said it was time for me to meet his mom. Patricia. He’d been putting it off, and honestly, I hadn’t pushed to meet her either.

I’d heard bits and pieces about her. Apparently, she was opinionated. She meant well most of the time, but could be intense sometimes.

His sister once told me she drove away his last girlfriend by asking her, point-blank, what her savings account looked like.

Still, I believed in first impressions, and I believed in myself. So I picked out nice clothes, fixed my hair, grabbed a bottle of Pinot noir, and drove to her place with the most positive attitude I could summon.

She lived in a big colonial-style house in one of those neighborhoods where all the lawns looked like they’d been cut with scissors.

I parked behind Tyler’s car (we’d driven separately because we were planning on moving in together after the wedding), smoothed out my clothes, and walked up to the door, repeating, It’s just dinner. You got this.

Patricia greeted me like she’d been waiting to prove the rumors wrong. She had a big smile and showered me with compliments right off the bat.

“Oh, Charlotte! You’re even more lovely than the photos.” She touched my hair—actually touched it—and said, “So shiny! What do you use?”

“I… uh, dandruff shampoo?” I answered. She laughed like I’d said something clever. But as she ushered me inside her home, I started thinking maybe everyone had just misjudged her.

Dinner was lasagna. It was good. The real kind, no frozen nonsense. She offered me seconds, poured the wine I brought gladly, and asked about my work.

I told her about the comic convention I’d been to last month. I’d dressed as my favorite manga character, and a guy followed me around yelling something and calling me Sailor Moon.

Yeah, I had to explain a lot to her and Tyler that night about the differences between manga and anime, but Patricia actually laughed and listened.

I was pleasantly surprised. So, by the time dessert rolled around, I’d started to relax. Ha. I should’ve known better.

After we finished eating, Patricia turned to Tyler and said sweetly, “Honey, could you help me with something quick in the bedroom?”

I blinked. “You need help moving something?”

She waved her hand. “Oh no, just a little thing. Won’t take a minute.”

I nodded, not thinking much of it. Once they were gone, I started clearing and washing the dishes. I was humming to myself the entire time, even smiling like a fool.

Ten minutes later, Tyler walked out of the bedroom looking like he’d seen a ghost. His eyes were wide, and his cheeks had gone pale.

“Everything okay?” I asked, drying my hands with a dish towel.

He nodded toward the kitchen door and went out to the back porch. I took that to mean that he wanted me to follow. Once outside, Tyler turned to me and sighed heavily before speaking.

“Charlotte… my mom thinks this engagement’s a mistake.”

I visibly flinched back. “Wait, what?”

“She said I need someone… different. Someone with money, who can bring more to the table, so I don’t have to work as hard.”

I stared at him, feeling my heart pumping in my ears.

He kept going. “She says you’re pretty, but not ‘future material’ or mature enough ’cause you like cartoons. And honestly, I’ve been thinking the same thing. I think…” he paused, staring at his shoes, “…we should call it off.”

My throat tightened. I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. I just stared at him, wondering how the same man who proposed to me two weeks ago was now parroting his mommy’s nonsense like it was gospel.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. I should’ve walked out and never looked back.

But I had one last move.

I smiled.

“If that’s what you want, then that’s fine,” I said softly. “But… can we have one last dinner together? A proper goodbye. At my place. Just us.”

He blinked. “Like, closure?”

“Exactly. Closure.”

He hesitated for a second. Maybe something in my voice tripped a wire in his brain. But then he nodded. “Yeah. Sure. That sounds… mature.”

“Okay, I’ll call you in a few days to set it up.”

“Sure!”

Idiot.

I left that night with a big smile on my face for Patricia, thanking her for everything. I admit, I did cry a little before crashing. But the next morning, I started my plan.

I didn’t cry again. I didn’t rant to friends or throw out the few things he’d left at my place. 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’d 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. Just said, “Oh, hell yeah. Let’s mess this dude up—emotionally, I mean.”

Our dinner took place around a week after I met Patricia. To my surprise, Tyler showed up wearing cologne and his best shirt, like this was some kind of date.

He gave me a little half-smile, too, like he expected me to be crying into his shoulder by the end of the night, begging him to stay together.

I welcomed him in. We had 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.

After dinner, I got up and said, “I made chocolate mousse.”

His eyes lit up. “Seriously? You’re going all out for a goodbye dinner?”

“Of course,” I said, placing two bowls on the table. I also set a small velvet box next to his.

He looked down at it. “What’s this?”

“Just a gift so you never forget me.”

He opened it. Inside was a card: A little something to remember me by. And a tattoo voucher.

“A tattoo?”

“You always talked about getting one,” I said, sipping my wine. “A meaningful phrase on your back, remember?”

He looked touched. “That’s… wow, Char. That’s really… mature, I mean, amazing of you.”

I smirked. “And you said I wasn’t mature enough.”

He laughed. “Guess I was wrong.”

I smiled back. “Guess so.”

We kept talking. I explained Devon was doing me a favor, and since Tyler knew him, he got even more excited. We said goodbye at the end of the night as if we were going to see each other often.

But the next day, Tyler showed up at Devon’s shop. My friend later told me the guy was giddy. Talked about how “refreshing” it was to have a civil breakup. Said he was excited to finally do something just for him.

Devon had him lie face down and told him the design was meaningful. Something that would “leave an impression.” But also that he’d gotten strict instructions from me not to reveal anything until he was done.

Tyler didn’t even ask to see the stencil.

Hours later, Tyler left the shop with a fresh tattoo on his back, wrapped in plastic. He couldn’t even see it fully in the mirror, but Devon said he didn’t care and was smiling the entire time.

Finally, 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, big, black cursive and read: Property of Patricia — Mama’s Boy For Life

By morning, my phone was blowing up with voicenotes from him and his raging mother, but I deleted those without listening to them.

There were hundreds of texts from my friends, too. All of them found it hilarious.

But Tyler showed up at my apartment that afternoon, pounding on the door. “You tricked me!” he yelled. “That’s permanent! You’re insane!”

I opened the door and looked him straight in the eye. “Nah, I’m just ‘not future material’ or ‘mature,’ remember?”

He stood right outside my apartment, furious but frozen, so I shrugged and shut the door in his face.

Patricia came once, too, but I didn’t open the door that time.

Six months later, I heard from a friend that Tyler had to move back in with her because his freelance work had dried up. Apparently, he was also getting laser treatment, but the tattoo was still faintly there after several sessions.

Now, word is, he’s still single and using dating apps. His bio says: “Looking for someone who respects family values.”

And me?

I’m dating Devon now. Helping a girl plan revenge really opens up your chemistry.

He calls me his muse, and I’ve been sketching for him a lot these days while he inks the magic.

Patricia was right about one thing. I wasn’t built for that future.

But I sure as hell designed a better one.