Tyler’s mom never liked me. She thought I wasn’t good enough for her precious son, and the worst part? He actually listened to her. He called off our wedding like it was nothing, like the love we shared meant less than her approval.
But I wasn’t about to go quietly. Oh no, I had one last goodbye planned. One they’d never forget.
The Proposal That Felt Like a Dream
Tyler had proposed on a warm summer night. Nothing extravagant—just the two of us on my tiny balcony, eating greasy takeout and drinking cheap wine. We were laughing about something silly when he suddenly pulled out a ring, his hands shaking, his smile stretched so wide it was contagious.
I said yes before he could even finish his sentence.
From that moment, we threw ourselves into wedding planning. We didn’t want anything fancy—just a small, fun wedding with a ramen bar and a cosplay-themed photo booth. It was our kind of perfect.
He was a freelance web developer, I was a graphic designer obsessed with anime and comics. We didn’t need luxury. We needed each other.
Or so I thought.
The Night It All Fell Apart
A couple of weeks after the engagement, Tyler finally decided it was time for me to meet his mother. Patricia.
He had been avoiding it, and honestly, I hadn’t pushed for it either. I had heard enough to be wary. His sister once let slip that Patricia had chased away his last girlfriend by bluntly asking how much she had in savings.
But I wanted to believe in first impressions. So I dressed up, did my hair, grabbed a nice bottle of wine, and walked into that big colonial house, determined to make a good impression.
Patricia greeted me with warmth. Too much warmth.
“Oh, Charlotte! You’re even more lovely than in pictures.” She reached out and touched my hair, something no one had ever done so casually. “So shiny! What do you use?”
“Uh… just dandruff shampoo?” I said awkwardly.
She laughed like I had cracked the funniest joke in the world. Maybe she wasn’t so bad, I thought. Maybe people had judged her unfairly.
Dinner was delicious—homemade lasagna, no frozen nonsense. She poured my wine, asked about my work, even laughed at my stories. I started to relax.
But then, after dessert, she turned to Tyler and said sweetly, “Honey, could you help me with something in the bedroom?”
I thought nothing of it. Just kept humming as I washed the dishes, completely unaware my world was about to crash.
When Tyler came back, he looked pale. Haunted.
“Everything okay?” I asked, drying my hands.
He walked out onto the porch, and I followed, the air suddenly heavy.
He sighed, not looking at me. “Charlotte… my mom thinks this engagement is a mistake.”
I blinked. “What?”
“She says I need someone… different. Someone with money, someone who can bring more to the table so I don’t have to work as hard.”
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. He kept going.
“She says you’re pretty but not ‘future material.’ Not mature enough. Because… you like cartoons.”
And then came the final blow.
“I think she’s right.”
Silence.
My whole body went numb. The man who had looked at me with so much love was now just… an echo of his mother’s voice.
I should have left. Should have told him off right then and there.
But I had a better idea.
I forced a smile. “If that’s what you want, okay. But… can we have one last dinner together? A proper goodbye. At my place.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Like, for closure?”
“Exactly.”
He hesitated but then nodded. “That actually sounds mature.”
“Oh, I know.”
Idiot.
The Grand Finale
Over the next few days, I put my plan into motion. I didn’t cry, didn’t throw out his things, didn’t even rant to friends. Instead, I called Devon, my favorite tattoo artist and one of my closest friends.
When I explained my idea, he burst out laughing. “Oh, hell yes. Let’s do this.”
The dinner happened a week later. Tyler arrived dressed up, smelling like expensive cologne, as if this was some twisted date.
We ate pasta, sipped wine, and I even laughed at his jokes. He got comfortable, probably thinking I’d break down and beg him to stay.
Then, after dinner, I placed a small velvet box in front of him.
“What’s this?” he asked, curiosity in his eyes.
“A gift. So you never forget me.”
He opened it. Inside was a voucher for a tattoo session with Devon, plus a card that read: A little something to remember me by.
His face lit up. “You… got me a tattoo?”
“You always wanted one,” I said smoothly. “Something meaningful, a phrase on your back, right?”
His eyes softened. “That’s really sweet of you, Char.”
I smirked. “I try.”
The Mark of a Mama’s Boy
The next day, Tyler showed up at Devon’s shop, giddy about getting inked. He laid face down, trusting Devon completely.
Devon followed my instructions exactly. No previews. No reveals until it was done.
Hours later, Tyler walked out with a fresh tattoo, still wrapped in plastic. He couldn’t see it fully, but he was grinning like an idiot.
That night, Devon texted me a photo.
In beautiful, bold cursive, right across his back, it read:
Property of Patricia — Mama’s Boy For Life.
I posted it on Instagram. Didn’t tag him. Didn’t need to.
By morning, my phone exploded with texts and voicemails. Tyler’s voice raged through my inbox. “You tricked me! That’s permanent! You’re insane!”
I simply replied, “Nah. Just not ‘future material.’”
Then I blocked him.
Patricia showed up at my apartment once, banging on my door, but I ignored her too.
The Happily Ever After
Six months later, Tyler had moved back in with his mother. His freelance work dried up, and he was undergoing painful laser removal. But the ink was still faintly there.
I heard from a friend that he was now on dating apps. His bio? Looking for someone who respects family values.
As for me? I moved on.
With Devon.
Turns out, helping someone plan revenge is a real bonding experience.
He calls me his muse now, and I spend my days sketching while he inks his magic.
Patricia was right about one thing. I wasn’t built for Tyler’s future.
I built myself a better one.
