That summer was the hottest we’d ever faced, yet my husband Alex wore long sleeves every day indoors and out. Meanwhile, our daughter Carlie played in her kiddie pool under the blazing sun. Alex grew distant, recoiling when I touched him and locking the bathroom door. At first, I thought he was uncomfortable or self-conscious, but his strange secrecy hinted at something deeper.
Then Carlie dropped a bombshell: Alex had a tattoo hidden beneath his sleeves. It wasn’t just any tattoo, but one in his mother Angela’s handwriting that read, “My mommy Angela is my only love forever.” I was stunned Angela, who had always been cold toward me and tried to come between us, was literally etched into his skin. The betrayal hit harder than I expected.
Alex confessed he got the tattoo because Angela claimed she was gravely ill and wanted a permanent reminder of her place in his life. But when I visited Angela, she was perfectly well and chillingly admitted the tattoo was a way to control Alex. It was twisted manipulation, and I felt powerless seeing my husband trapped under his mother’s influence.
That night, I took back my power. I got a tattoo of my own: “Self-respect, my only love forever,” to remind myself of my worth. Alex still hides his tattoo under long sleeves, but I wear mine openly no longer silent or hidden. It marks the moment I stopped apologizing and started standing up for myself.