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I step between them.My body moves before I think.

“Don’t,” I say.

“Marlowe.”He’s calm as usual.Dismissive.“It’s a stray.It’s not your cause.”

“He’s not a cause.He’s alive.”

He looks at the dog.Tilts his head.“For now.”

He turns to leave, but pauses at the door.“Marco will be here in twenty minutes.”

It's always twenty minutes with him.Like misery should be efficient.

And then he’s gone.

No argument.No raised voice.Just a quiet sentence, like a countdown you didn’t hear start.

I stay where I am.Kneel beside the puppy.His eyes are barely open now, his breathing shallow, as though he knows exactly what a man like Robert means when he says “take care of it.”

I press my face to his fur and breathe.

This isn’t the first time something I love has disappeared in this house.

Eventually, I pick him up.

I carry him to the guest bathroom.Shut the door.Lock it.

Turn the water on—not because I need it, but because silence feels worse.

I lay him on a towel that cost more than my first car.

He doesn’t cry.

I do.

Not loud.Not much.Just enough to sting.

If I were smarter, I’d leave.I’d find a way out of this.Today.This minute.

But it’s bigger than me.

I’m tired.

And tired doesn’t scream.Doesn’t run.

It just keeps folding laundry and pretending not to notice the blood on the floor.

3

Vance

She’s posting again.

Three hours ago: a mirror selfie in the hospital bathroom.Ponytail.Lip gloss.That same soft smile she uses when she wants the likes to look earned.Caption says,“Just me today—reviewing meds, asking all the hard questions????#MomLife.”

No kid in frame.No badge visible.Nothing timestamped.Just a filtered face and a flattened truth.

I scroll past the comments.