I literally do not care what hairstyle he has or that his piercings and tattoos will be visible. My only request is that he covers one specific tattoo. When he was in college, my brother unconsciously got a tattoo of his ex’s name on his forearm.
The girl dumped him a week later, and the tattoo has been haunting our family photos ever since. That was the only thing I asked when my younger brother, Daniel, told me he wanted to wear short sleeves to my wedding. I love him to bits, but he has the worst judgment when it comes to impulse decisions.
The tattoo was in bold cursive letters—“Jenna.” Right on the middle of his forearm like a billboard. To be honest, I didn’t care much about tattoos or piercings. I just didn’t want “Jenna” to show up in my wedding album when I was marrying someone definitely not named Jenna.
And I didn’t want to explain that to my future kids one day. Daniel laughed when I reminded him. “Still your best-looking groomsman, even with the curse of Jenna,” he joked, flexing the tattoo as if it had become some kind of ironic badge of honor.
He promised to cover it up. Said he’d wear one of those cool arm sleeves or get makeup for it. But my brother being my brother, I didn’t really trust him to follow through.
Still, the week before the wedding, everything seemed on track. The venue was ready, the guests were confirmed, and I was set to marry the love of my life—Mira. Now, Mira is the calm to my chaos.
She doesn’t stress easily, but even she was a little on edge the night before our big day. Not about the wedding itself, but about her grandmother. “Nani still hasn’t confirmed she’s coming,” Mira said as we sat on the floor of our living room, folding little welcome bags.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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