OLIVIA
After our breakfast conversation, I walked Auntie Melanie and Uncle Luis to the door, thanking them for coming over and reassuring them that I would keep an eye out for any news about Ely. As they left, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Their concern for their son was evident, but it also served as a stark reminder of the tangled mess that Ely had left behind.
Closing the door, I decided to focus on my work for the rest of the day. Tattooing had always been a form of therapy for me, a way to express my emotions and channel my creativity. I immersed myself in my art, carefully etching designs onto my clients' skin, each piece telling a unique story.
As the hours passed, my mind occasionally drifted back to the morning's conversation. I had made a choice to move forward,
