After My Husband Let His Mistress Tattoo Me, I Destroyed Him

I made the call at three in the morning.

The number was in my phone under a single initial. G. Grandfather kept people like this on retainer. The kind who didn't ask questions. The kind who'd been doing quiet work for the Hicks family since before I was born.

A man answered. No greeting. Just silence.

"Nadia Cruz," I said. "She's at the Marlowe Hotel in SoHo. Room 408. I need her at the upstate estate by Friday morning."

"Understood."

"No violence," I added. "No confrontation. Tell her it's a message from Mr. Edwards. She'll come."

He hung up.

I made the second call. Dr. Serena Voss answered on the third ring. Her voice was crisp. Professional. She didn't sound like someone who'd been asleep.

"Mrs. Edwards," she said. "It's been a while."

"I need a procedure," I said. "Upstate. Friday morning. Dermabrasion. Chest area. Permanent."

A pause. Then: "I'll need specifications."

I sent her a photograph. The one I'd taken in my bathroom mirror the night of the anniversary. The black script across my chest. Still red around the edges.

"Exactly this," I said. "Same size. Same placement. Irreversible."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"I'll be there at nine," Dr. Voss said.

I hung up. Lexi was watching me from the couch. She hadn't said a word since I started making calls.

"You're really doing this," she said quietly.

I looked at her. "Yes."

"Good."

She poured herself another glass of wine. Her hand was steady.

---

Friday morning came cold and bright. I drove to the upstate estate alone. The house sat on two hundred acres of forest. Grandfather bought it in the seventies. We used it twice a year. Maybe.

Dr. Voss arrived at eight-thirty. She set up in the east wing guest room. I'd had staff clear it the day before. White walls. Good light. A medical table in the center. Instruments laid out on a steel tray like surgery.

She worked without speaking. Checked her equipment twice. When she was done, she turned to me.

"The patient?" she asked.

"She'll be here soon."

Dr. Voss nodded. She didn't ask why. She never did. That's why Grandfather kept her number.

I sat in the leather chair by the window. Crossed my legs. Waited.

At nine-fifteen, I heard the car. Tires on gravel. Doors opening. Voices.

Footsteps in the hall.

The door opened. Two men in dark suits. Between them, Nadia Cruz.

She was wearing the clothes from the hotel. Jeans. A silk camisole. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was perfect. She looked confused. A little annoyed.

Then she saw me.

Her face changed. The confusion drained away. Something else took its place. Something that looked almost like understanding.

"Adalynn," she said. Her voice was small.

I didn't stand. Didn't smile.

"Close the door," I said to the men.

They left. The lock clicked.

Nadia looked at Dr. Voss. At the table. At the instruments. Her breathing got faster.

"What is this," she whispered.

"Sit down," I said.

She didn't move.

"Sit. Down."

She sat. Her hands were shaking.

I leaned forward. Rested my elbows on my knees. Looked at her the way you'd look at something broken on the side of the road.

"You put something on my body," I said quietly. "Something I didn't ask for. Something I can't remove."

Nadia's eyes filled. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was stupid. I was—Rohan said—"

"I don't care what Rohan said."

My voice was soft. Calm. I watched her flinch anyway.

"I pulled you out of that trailer," I said. "I gave you a name. A school. A life. And you thanked me by branding me like livestock."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Mascara streaked. She looked young. Terrified.

I felt nothing.

"So now," I said, "we're going to match."

Her face went white. "No. No, please—"

"Dr. Voss," I said.

The doctor stepped forward. Gestured to the table. "If you'll lie down, Ms. Cruz."

Nadia stood. Backed toward the door. Her hands were up like she could stop this.

"Adalynn, please," she said. Her voice cracked. "I'll leave. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. I swear—"

"Lie down."

"Please—"

"Lie down, or I'll have them hold you down. Your choice."

She looked at me. Really looked. Searching for something. Mercy, maybe. Hesitation.

She didn't find it.

She walked to the table. Climbed on. Her whole body was shaking.

Dr. Voss moved with clinical efficiency. Positioned Nadia flat. Unbuttoned her camisole. Cleaned the skin over her chest with antiseptic. The smell was sharp. Medicinal.

Nadia started crying harder. "Rohan," she whispered. "Rohan, please—"

"He's not coming," I said.

Dr. Voss picked up the dermabrader. The motor hummed. Low and steady.

Nadia screamed.

The procedure took forty minutes. Nadia begged. She invoked Rohan's name. She invoked God. She promised things she couldn't deliver. Her voice went hoarse. Then quiet. Just ragged breathing and the hum of the machine.

I watched the whole time. Didn't look away. Didn't blink.

When Dr. Voss finally stepped back, Nadia's chest was raw. Red. The skin textured in a way that would never smooth. Never fade.

Exactly like mine.

I stood. Walked to the table. Looked down at her.

Nadia's eyes were swollen. Her face was wet. She looked at me like I was something she didn't recognize.

"Now we match," I said softly.

I turned. Walked to the door. Stopped with my hand on the handle.

"Drive her back to the city," I said to the men waiting outside. "Drop her at the hotel."

I didn't look back.

I got in my car. Drove home. The sun was high and cold. The trees were bare.

I felt nothing.

That was fine.

I didn't need to feel anything anymore.