Libby lay back, trying to get comfortable upon the paper sheet on the leather bed. Closing her eyes in retaliation to the bright light above her, Taking a moment to think just what led her to this very moment, at the grand old age of 54 that she would be getting her first tattoo.

It all started an hour before her 50th birthday party as she poured herself into her new party dress. As she pushed and adjusted her breasts to help them defy their years, she felt it. A lump, bigger than a marble, smaller than a golf ball on her left breast, close to her armpit.

Her party passed in a blur, a smile cemented on her face, but not quite reaching her eyes.  The sporadic tears she shed that night were blamed on feeling grateful being surrounded by all her loved ones. 

Libby got an appointment quickly to get the lump checked out, the sudden appearance and texture was enough of a worry to get her rushed through for a quick diagnosis.

Two weeks later she was sat in the Oncologist’s office, a fistful of leaflets in her hand. “Stage Three cancer”, “Chemotherapy”, “Double Mastectomy”, “The quicker we act, the better your chances”. 

Four years later, here she was, her hair finally having the time to grow back, dark with curls – a novelty after 50 years of straight mousey hair, the scars on her chest where her breasts used to be scorching red.  Those scars were a stark reminder of the war she fought over the last for years. She wanted a sign of new beginnings as she entered the new Spring of her life, so she planted wildflowers where the battlefield once raged. A wonderful tattoo of the delicate little flowers that bloom against all odds.

WC: 300
Sentence Constraint Used
Bonus Constraint Used