I’m Seren. When my fiancé’s mom, Althea, thought I wasn’t good enough for her son, Ronan bought her words and called off our wedding, breaking my heart. So, for our last dinner together, I decided to give them a goodbye gift they’d never forget.
Ronan proposed on my balcony, just us, with greasy takeout and lots of wine. His hands shook as he held out a ring, his grin so wide it warmed my heart. I said “Yes!” before he finished, my chest bursting with joy.
We started planning a small wedding—simple, with a ramen bar and a cosplay photo booth. It was perfect for us.
Ronan was a freelance web developer. I was a graphic designer, drawing comics for small publishers and geeking out over anime scenes. We didn’t need a fancy venue or matching groomsmen. We just needed each other.
Or so I thought.
A couple of weeks into our engagement, Ronan said it was time to meet Althea. He’d been avoiding it, and I hadn’t pushed. His sister had warned me Althea was opinionated—she’d scared off his last girlfriend by asking straight-up about her savings.
Still, I believed in first impressions. I dressed nicely, fixed my hair, grabbed a bottle of Pinot noir, and drove to her place, trying to stay hopeful.
Her house was big, colonial-style, in a neighborhood where lawns looked perfectly trimmed. I parked behind Ronan’s car—we drove separately since we planned to move in together after the wedding—smoothed my skirt, and walked to the door, muttering, “It’s just dinner, Seren. You got this.”
Althea greeted me like she wanted to prove the rumors wrong, all smiles and compliments. “Oh, Seren! You’re even prettier than the pictures!” She touched my hair—actually touched it—and said, “So shiny! What’s your secret?”
“Uh… dandruff shampoo?” I said, awkward. She laughed like I’d told a joke. I started thinking maybe everyone had misjudged her.
Dinner was lasagna, homemade, not frozen. She offered me seconds, poured my wine cheerfully, and asked about my work. I told her about a comic convention where I dressed as my favorite manga character, and some guy followed me, yelling “Sailor Moon!”
I had to explain manga versus anime to her and Ronan, but Althea laughed and seemed to listen. I was surprised, even relieved. By dessert, I let my guard down. Big mistake.
After we ate, Althea turned to Ronan, all sweet. “Honey, can you help me with something quick in the bedroom?”
I blinked. “Need help moving something?”
“Oh, no, just a small thing,” she said, waving her hand.
I nodded, not thinking much of it, and started clearing dishes. I was humming, even smiling like a fool.
Ten minutes later, Ronan came out looking shaken, eyes wide, face pale. “You okay?” I asked, drying my hands on a dish towel.
He nodded toward the back porch. I followed, my stomach twisting. Outside, he sighed heavily and said, “Seren… my mom thinks this engagement’s a mistake.”
I flinched. “What?”
“She says I need someone… different. Someone with money, who can bring more to the table so I don’t have to work so hard.”
My heart pounded in my ears.
He kept going. “She says you’re pretty, but not ‘future material’ or mature enough ‘cause you like cartoons. And… I’ve been thinking the same. I think we should call it off.”
My throat tightened. I couldn’t speak. I just stared, heart breaking, wondering how the man who proposed weeks ago was now repeating his mom’s nonsense like it was fact.
I could’ve walked away, never looked back. But I had one last move.
I forced a smile, voice soft. “If that’s what you want, fine. But… can we have one last dinner together? At my place. Just us.”
He blinked. “Like, closure?”
“Exactly,” I said. “Closure.”
He hesitated, like he caught something in my tone. But then he nodded. “Yeah, sure. That sounds… grown-up.”
“I’ll call you in a few days,” I said.
“Sure,” he said, almost relieved.
Fool.
I left that night with a big smile for Althea, thanking her like nothing was wrong. I cried a bit when I got home, my chest aching. But the next morning, I started my plan.
I didn’t cry again. I didn’t vent to friends or toss Ronan’s stuff. I focused and called Senara, a popular tattoo artist in town. We’d bonded over comics, and she’d done several of my tattoos.
I told her my idea. She didn’t hesitate. “Hell yeah, Seren. Let’s mess with him—just emotionally, you know?”
Our dinner happened a week later. Ronan showed up in cologne and a nice shirt, giving me a half-smile like he thought I’d beg him to stay. I welcomed him in, hiding my pain. We ate pasta, drank wine, soft jazz playing. I laughed at his silly joke, watching him relax.
After dinner, I set out chocolate mousse. His eyes lit up. “You’re going all out for a goodbye dinner.”
“Of course,” I said, placing a small velvet box by his plate.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A gift,” I said, sipping wine. “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. “A meaningful phrase on your back, right?”
He looked touched. “Wow, Seren. That’s… really kind of you.”
I smirked. “You said I wasn’t mature enough.”
He laughed. “Guess I was wrong.”
I smiled back. “Guess so.”
We kept talking. I said Senara was doing it as a favor, and since Ronan knew her, he got excited. We said goodbye like we’d see each other again.
The next day, Ronan went to Senara’s shop. Senara told me he was giddy, saying our breakup was “refreshing.” Senara said the tattoo was special, a design that’d “leave a mark,” but I’d told her not to show it until it was done.
Ronan didn’t even ask to see the sketch.
Hours later, he left with a fresh tattoo on his back, wrapped in plastic. Senara said he was smiling, clueless. Senara texted me the photo, and I posted it on Instagram, no tag, knowing he’d see it.
In big, black cursive, it read: Property of Althea — Mama’s Boy For Life.
By morning, my phone blew up with angry voicemails from Ronan and Althea. I deleted them without listening. My friends sent texts, laughing hard.
Ronan showed up that afternoon, pounding on my door. “You tricked me!” he yelled. “This is permanent! You’re crazy!”
I opened the door, looked him in the eye. “Nah, I’m just ‘not future material’ or ‘mature,’ right?”
He stood there, furious but stuck. I shrugged and shut the door.
Althea came by once, but I didn’t open it.
Six months later, a friend said Ronan moved back with Althea after his work dried up. He’s been getting laser treatments, but the tattoo’s still there, faint but clear.
He’s on dating apps now, his bio saying: “Looking for someone who respects family values.”
Me? I’m with Senara now. Planning that revenge brought us closer. She calls me her muse, and I’ve been sketching for her tattoo designs, my heart full again.
Althea was right—I wasn’t built for her future. But I sure built a better one.
