MY SISTER’S NEW TATTOO HAS MY DEAD MOTHER’S EXACT BIRTHMARK
My breath hitched as I saw the fresh ink on her wrist, a familiar jagged starburst. It was identical, a perfect copy of the birthmark etched on Mom’s inner forearm, the one we’d both spent years tracing. Mom has been gone five years, and the sight sent a cold dread through me.
I felt the familiar sting of new tattoo ink in the air, a metallic sweetness that made my stomach churn. “How could you, Sarah?” I managed, my voice thin. “That was Mom’s. Her *exact* birthmark.” Sarah’s eyes darted away, her jaw tightening.
She mumbled something about it being “just a design” and tried to pull her sleeve down, but I grabbed her arm. The skin was still tender, slightly raised. A sudden wave of cold washed over me despite the warm kitchen light, a premonition of something truly awful.
“No, it’s not,” I insisted, my grip firm. “That pattern… it’s too precise. You found her medical records, didn’t you? You found *something*.” Her face went pale, a single tear tracing a path through the fresh makeup on her cheek. She didn’t deny it.
Then she whispered, “It wasn’t just a birthmark. It was a map.”
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*”A map? What are you talking about?” My voice was barely a whisper, the kitchen suddenly feeling claustrophobic.
Sarah finally met my gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and defiance. “Mom wasn’t… ordinary. She always hinted at things, secrets. Before she died, she was researching our family history obsessively. That birthmark… she believed it pointed to something. Something valuable.”
“Valuable? Sarah, Mom was a librarian! She valued knowledge, not treasure hunts!” I shook my head, trying to make sense of the absurdity.
“Maybe,” she said, her voice trembling. “But she was also adopted. She always felt like a piece of a puzzle was missing. She thought the birthmark was a key.”
She explained how she’d accidentally stumbled upon some old family documents while cleaning out Mom’s attic. Buried amongst old photos and dusty books was a handwritten journal, filled with Mom’s frantic research. The journal detailed Mom’s growing conviction that the birthmark wasn’t just a random skin discoloration, but a celestial map, passed down through generations of women in our family. It linked the mark to a specific constellation, and the constellation to… well, that’s where the journal ended abruptly.
“So you just… decided to get it tattooed on your arm and go treasure hunting?” I asked, incredulous.
“I know it sounds crazy, okay? But I felt… compelled. Like Mom wanted me to. And I’ve been following her notes, trying to decipher the constellation’s relation to something real, something here. I found a mention of an old family estate, a place Mom never talked about. It’s hours away, practically abandoned.”
“And you think the treasure is there?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sarah shrugged, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “I don’t know. But it’s the only lead I have. I just… I wanted to feel closer to her. And maybe, just maybe, find out who she really was.”
I stared at the tattoo, a perfect replica of Mom’s unique mark. It was a bizarre, impulsive act, but seeing the raw vulnerability in Sarah’s eyes, I understood. We both missed Mom fiercely, both grappled with the mysteries of her life.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
Sarah looked at me, surprised. “Really?”
“Really. But we do this together. And if we find a chest full of gold, we’re donating it to the library Mom loved so much.”
Sarah smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Deal.”
Perhaps it was foolish, chasing a dead woman’s hunch based on a birthmark and a tattered journal. But as we packed the car, ready to embark on our strange quest, I felt a connection to Mom I hadn’t felt since she was gone. And maybe, just maybe, we’d find more than treasure. Maybe we’d find ourselves.