At the edge of my tattoo, I had the artist incorporate her name, tiny and scripted among the flower’s leaves, barely noticeable except to us. Olivia’s name right over my heart, where it belonged. I had told her we were fulfilling the bet I lost when we raced to the top of the ridge, moments before we spotted the flower, but Liv knew the truth. My heart always had and always would belong to Olivia Morgan.
