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“You can always come to me, Tyson. Unless you try my husband again.”
“You’ve been a wife for a few months, and you’re already throwing that my husband shit around.”
“And my ring to go along with it,” I smiled, flexing my hand.
“Solana, it’s time to cut the cake,” Carol informed me, tugging at my elbow.
“I’m happy for you, Sol. I mean that.”
“Thank you, brother.”
Following Carol to the cake table, I stood beside Quest, happier than ever.
I was no longer the spoiled, docile young woman who could be manipulated to do whatever my family wanted. I had grown confidence and a voice I wasn’t afraid to use. Then my eyes found my parents and the glass of champagne in my mother’s hand because it seemed like she couldn’t get through this event without it. Her eyes traveled down to my exposed thigh and the tattoo I refused to cover today.
I couldn't help but reflect on its profound significance. This inked companion, forever perched on my skin, represented more than just artistry –a symbol of liberation and resilience. A constant reminder of the strength it took to find my wings.
