“The Name on His Wrist”
The garden at Lakeside Manor looked like something out of a dream—rose petals lining the aisle, fairy lights in the trees, and my best friend Aisha glowing in lace as she walked toward the man she thought she’d spend forever with.
But something was wrong.
Jason, the groom, looked picture-perfect in his tux. Still, I couldn’t stop watching the way he kept rubbing his wrist—same spot, over and over, like something burned. I’d seen that before. My brother did the same thing after getting a tattoo.
As Aisha floated down the aisle, radiant and smiling, Jason’s fidgeting got worse. When she finally reached him, his cuff shifted. That’s when I saw it: fresh black ink.
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