He unbuttoned his shirt. On his chest was a tattoo of Owen’s face, small and detailed, placed over his heart.
“I got it after the funeral,” Charlie revealed. He glanced down at the tattoo, then back at me. “I didn’t let you hug me because the skin was still healing. And I didn’t show you because you hate tattoos and I couldn’t stand one more thing done wrong.”
On his chest was a tattoo of Owen’s face.
I laughed through my crying. The first real laugh since before the lake.
“It’s the only tattoo I’ll ever love,” I told him.
The moment did not fix what grief had done to us. But Owen still found a way to bring us back into the same room, under the same truth, holding the same love.
