Chapter 1: The Butterfly Promise

On the night before our wedding, my fiancée took my hand, and together we got matching tattoos—each of us inked with half of a butterfly wing. The sting of alcohol on my skin, Rachel’s nervous giggle echoing off the buzzing neon lights, made the moment feel reckless and electric.

The tattoo shop was one of those tucked-away spots just off Main Street, buzzing with fluorescent lights and the steady thrum of a needle. The artist, a woman with a sleeve of old-school roses and a Brooklyn accent, grinned as we nervously chose our design. Rachel squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back, the sharp sting of ink somehow making us laugh harder than ever. It was our way of saying forever—no rings yet, just a little ink, a little pain, and a lot of hope. I wondered if this would be enough to hold us together—if ink could outlast fear.

She grinned, squeezing my hand, “Now we’re stuck together—like butterflies, right? Can’t fly solo anymore.”

Her eyes sparkled, catching the glow of the neon sign in the window. In that moment, her words felt both playful and profound—like a secret just for us, a promise sketched into skin. I remember tracing the lines on her ankle, feeling a warmth that reached all the way to my chest.

But on our wedding day, she vanished without a trace.

The morning sunlight had just started creeping across our living room, bouncing off half-packed boxes and the pastel decorations Rachel picked out. I was practicing my vows in the mirror, heart pounding, tie half-tied, when the bottom dropped out of my world.

To find my butterfly, I scrubbed away my half of the wing and became a police officer.

The tattoo faded, but the ghost of it lingered—an ache beneath the skin. Every night I caught myself glancing at my ankle, half-expecting to see her outline beside mine. I traded dreams of shared breakfasts and road trips for police academy drills, shifting from dress shoes to boots, vows to badges.

Five years later, when a faint clue finally surfaced, I began to peel away the many masks of human nature myself.

The job gave me a new language: procedure, evidence, suspects. But in the quiet moments, when the streets emptied and the world went still, I was just a man searching for the other half of his wing.