Page 7 of Since the Day We Kissed

When Kara returned to the to-do list on her computer, her elbow accidentally nudged a stack of papers. As they slid, a familiar corner peeked out—the dog-eared edge ofAnimal Rescue Stories, the book her mother had read to her every night as a child. Kara gently pulled it free, running her fingers over the worn spine and yellowed pages. The book fell open to a well-loved chapter, and in an instant, she could hear her mother’s soothing voice.

“Second chances aren’t just for the animals we save; they’re for all the hearts we heal along the way.”

Smiling, Kara remembered how her mom would bring home stray dogs and cats—much to her father’s disapproval, which only made her open her arms wider. She had a soft heart for all the poor, unwanted animals in the world, and that’s how she lived her life until the day of the accident.

Kara’s eyes fluttered shut, and in the darkness behind her lids, she saw that last day with startling clarity.

“Tomorrow, we’ll start planning our own sanctuary. With all these strays, we need a proper home for them,” her mom had said.

But tomorrow never came. Just a phone call, flashing lights, and heartache like nothing she’d ever known.

Tears stung her eyes, turning the world into a watery blur. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Her mom would’ve loved the rescue and all the work Kara had done in the community to give stray animals a safe haven. But now—what would her mom think of the problems she was facing? How wouldshefix it?

Losing the rescue would mean more than just giving up her life’s work; it would be like losing her mother all over again. Coupled with this was the agonizing fear of letting down the animals who needed her—those abandoned souls who had nowhere else to go.

The weight of it all pressed down on Kara’s shoulders, making it hard to breathe, but more of her mom’s words echoed in her mind again.

“Remember, sweetheart, every setback is just a setup for a comeback.”

Throwing in the towel wasn’t an option.

Kara wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and squared her shoulders, ready to take on the task ahead. Over the years, in the space between heartache and hope, she’d discovered the truest measure of love—giving all, knowing the cost.

Turning back to her computer, Kara forced herself to focus. There was no time for her to get lost in her thoughts, not when she had a rescue at full capacity and volunteers to find. As she started typing out the list of supplies she would need for the upcoming adoption event, the soft chime of the front doorbell cut through the quiet of the office. A single bark rang out from the kennels, followed by another, and another, until the air was filled with excited woofs and howls.

Kara’s heart raced.

This late? Who could be visiting the rescue now?

A new volunteer signing up? Part of her dared to hope, but the almost two decades of late-night emergencies had taught her to prepare for the worst.

Images flashed through her mind: a sodden cardboard box, whimpering puppies, a hastily scrawled note bearing a simple message: “Please help them. I can’t.”

This was more likely—always more likely—in this calling of endless heartbreak and healing that was both her blessing and her burden.

2

Ethan

EthanBennettwishedhewereanywherebut here.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as rain battered the old house’s metal roof, its sound echoing through the overgrown yard. Ethan’s shoulders hunched as his thin shirt clung to his skin like a clammy second layer. Rivulets of water ran down his back as he hustled over to the passenger side of his blue Chevy and opened it.

“Hero. Come on, boy. Let’s go.”

The Australian Shepherd leaped from the truck with fluid grace, making a small splash in the puddle that had gathered around the vehicle. He barked, then sidled up to Ethan’s leg. Reaching down, Ethan stroked Hero’s drenched blue-merle-and-white coat, feeling warmth seep through the already soaked fur. The dog shook off the rain, droplets spraying into the air before disappearing into the waterlogged soil beneath them. Hero’s peculiar gaze—one eye a sky blue, the other a warm brown—met Ethan’s with an almost human-like questioning, as if silently chiding his master for forgetting a jacket.

Ethan smiled, then strained to see through the gray sheets of rain toward the house. As his eyes traced the contours of 237 Willow Creek Road, more than two decades seemed to dissolve like mist, leaving him feeling like that same uncertain teenager who had fled this town so long ago.

The peeling paint.

The crooked mailbox.

Vines choking the porch railing.

It looked exactly as he remembered—a ramshackle, dingy old mess—and now that his father was gone, it was his problem.

Great.

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