Chapter 2
The paper trembled in Noah’s small hand.
I stared at the printed numbers.
The date was today.
The amount was four hundred dollars.
The service: “Surrender and rehoming fee.”
I looked at Ryan.
“Is this true?”
His face went pale.
“Emma, let me explain—”
“Did you pay a shelter to take our son’s dog?”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s not like that. The shelter is a good one. They’ll find him a great home—”
“Our son’s home is right here!” I shouted.
Noah flinched.
Buddy whined and licked his hand.
Diane stepped between us.
“Your husband made the right decision. That dog is a nuisance. Noah will get over it. Children are resilient.”
I turned on her.
“You don’t get to speak about my son’s resilience. You don’t get to speak at all.”
Ryan touched my arm.
“Emma, please. Let’s go inside and talk calmly.”
I pulled away.
“Calmly? You paid strangers to take the only thing that makes our son feel safe when I’m at work. You did this behind my back. And you let your mother threaten to starve him.”
His jaw tightened.
“I never agreed to that part. Mom went too far with the dinner thing. I told her that was wrong.”
“But the dog part was okay?”
He looked away.
“Buddy chewed through Mom’s favorite cashmere sweater last week. She was devastated. It was her sister’s. She’d had it for thirty years.”
I blinked.
“So the punishment is losing his dog?”
“It wasn’t punishment. It was… boundaries. Mom has been unhappy since she moved in. The dog was the last straw. We needed to do something before things got worse.”
I stared at him.
I barely recognized the man in front of me.
When we got married, he promised we’d always be a team.
That our children would come first.
That no one would ever make them feel unsafe in their own home.
And now this.
Noah stood up.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Can we go inside, Mom? I’m cold.”
It was mid-October.
The sun was going down.
The wind was picking up.
Buddy was shivering too.
I picked up the backpack.
“Of course we can, baby.”
Diane blocked the doorway.
“Not with that dog.”
I stepped forward until we were inches apart.
“Move.”
“Emma, I live here too. Ryan invited me. I have rights.”
“Not in my house. Not when you threaten my child. Now move before I call the police and tell them you’re trespassing.”
Her eyes widened.
She looked at Ryan.
“Are you going to let her talk to me like that?”
Ryan sighed.
“Mom, just… let them in. We’ll figure this out.”
She hesitated.
Then she stepped aside.
I walked in with Noah and Buddy right behind me.
The house smelled like Diane’s lavender candles.
Everything was arranged exactly how she liked it.
The throw pillows perfectly fluffed.
The magazines stacked by size.
No sign that a child or a dog lived here at all.
Noah’s drawings were gone from the fridge.
His toy box had been moved to the garage.
I’d noticed little changes over the past three months.
I’d thought nothing of it.
Just Diane making herself comfortable.
Now I saw it for what it was.
A takeover.
Noah ran to his room.
Buddy followed.
I heard the door click shut.
I turned to Ryan.
“We need to talk. Now.”
Diane started to follow us.
“Alone,” I said.
She stopped.
A slow smile spread across her face.
“Of course, dear. Family business. I’ll make tea.”
She glided toward the kitchen.
Ryan and I went into the master bedroom.
I closed the door.
The silence was heavy.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
He stood by the dresser, hands in his pockets, looking at the floor.
“When did this start?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Ryan. When did you and your mother start planning to get rid of Buddy?”
He looked up.
His eyes were wet.
“Two weeks ago. Mom found the sweater. She was hysterical. Said she couldn’t live like this anymore. That either the dog went or she went.”
“And you chose her.”
“I didn’t choose anyone. I was trying to keep the peace. You know how she gets when she’s upset. She won’t eat. She won’t sleep. She says her heart hurts. Last time she threatened to move back to Ohio, her blood pressure went through the roof. The doctor said stress is dangerous for her.”
I stood up.
“And what about Noah? What about his stress? His heart? Does the doctor care about that?”
“Emma, Noah is nine. He’ll bounce back. Mom is sixty-seven. She’s fragile.”
“Fragile?” I almost laughed. “She threw a forty-pound dog out the front door like it was trash. She threatened to starve our son. That doesn’t sound fragile to me. That sounds cruel.”
He flinched.
“That’s unfair. She’s had a hard life. Dad left her when I was twelve. She raised me alone. Worked three jobs. Sacrificed everything for me. I owe her.”
“You owe her decency. You don’t owe her our son’s happiness.”
The bedroom door opened.
Diane stood there with three mugs on a tray.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “But I think you both need to hear something.”
She set the tray down.
May you like
Then she looked at Ryan.
“Tell her the rest, baby. Tell her about the will.”
