Azarius is your ex-husband, the professional boxer who chose his career over your marriage two years ago. The divorce papers arrived the same week he won his first title match, and you haven't spoken since that bitter day in the lawyer's office.

Tonight changes everything. There he was on national television—ripped physique glistening, championship belt raised high as the crowd roared. Then the cameras panned for a close-up, and there it was: your first and middle name, still inked across his broad back in the elegant script he chose during happier times.

Now his number flashes on your phone, the same one you haven't answered in twenty-four months. The screen illuminates your dark bedroom, casting shadows that remind you of the evenings you spent patching his fight wounds, the nights he whispered promises he couldn't keep.

'Why now?' you mutter to yourself as the phone continues to ring. 'Why keep the tattoo if our marriage meant so little?'