Page 50 of Letting Go

“Very well then,” she says, slow. “Roxy already had the surgery. This will be her last litter.”

She says it like a closing door.

Like a test.

Like she’s leaving the offer on the table and walking away.

I look at my puppy, who’s now curled at the base of the cage, still crying.

And I look at Roxy.

And suddenly, I don’t feel like a mess or a woman in recovery or a burned-out divorcee or a victim of anything. I just feelhuman.

And I can’t unsee it. Can’t unknow it.

So, I take a breath. And I say:

“Get me another clipboard.”

Chapter 19

By the time I pull into the driveway, I’m sweating through my t-shirt, my arms sore from carrying my emotionally complicated choices, and my brain looping the same thought over and over like a bad pop song:

What the hell did I just do.

Because yeah. I walked into that shelter with the intention of getting one puppy. Just one. Cute. Fluffy. Bite-sized chaos to maybe patch the gaping hole in my chest.

And now I have two.

Because I saw her; the mom, Roxy. And I didn’t even think I’d ever get a dog, let alone two, but the moment my puppy started wailing and Roxy started clawing at her cage to get to her baby, something in me cracked open. Split wide. And I couldn’t just walk away.

So, I didn’t.

And now I’m home. With both of them. And oh, great. Hannah’s sitting on my porch like she lives here.

“I came to check on you,” she says, standing like she’s been waiting to deliver some big sister sermon.

“No,” I sigh, fumbling with the leash and trying not to let the puppy escape again. “You came to see the puppy.”

I open the door and boom, they’re off. Tiny, one launches herself at Hannah with the grace of a cannonball. Roxy follows at a measured pace like she’s thinking, I’ve birthed that hell beast. You’re welcome.

“I thought you were only getting one,” Hannah says, blinking at me like I’ve grown an extra head. Or maybe just lost mine entirely.

“I was,” I say, rubbing my temples. “And then I saw her cry. And the puppy cried. And then I cried. So now I have two.”

Hannah stares. Then her lip wobbles and she just melts.

“You didn’t separate them,” she says, voice thick.

“You’re so- God, that’s so kind. You’re like… Snow White. But, like, sexy and sad.” She barely two- weeks along, but now she can cry at the drop of a hat.

“Sexy and sad,” I repeat, deadpan. “Exactly the vibe I’m going for.”

For the next hour, chaos reigns. The puppy sniffs everything, and pees on the rug. Twice. Roxy scratches at the back door, politely requesting asylum. She’s calm. Dignified. Clearly house-trained. Which just makes it more impossible to wrap my head around how anyone could leave her behind.

Like, you house-trained her. You fed her. And you still dumped her like she was garbage.

I hate people.

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