So I decided I didn’t want him anymore.
I started to laugh—a harsh, bitter laugh.
But it didn’t bring me joy; as I laughed, blood trickled from my lips.
I didn’t want to dirty Buddy’s body, so I wiped my mouth and took him outside to the back of the yard.
I struggled to carry Buddy, but I wanted to give him a proper goodbye. I stumbled along until I reached my brother’s grave.
My brother had been my rock, and I knew he’d want to be there for me even now. After Alexander and I bought this yard, I had moved my brother’s grave to the hillside behind the house.
With the help of some of the staff, I dug a small hole next to my brother’s grave and gently laid Buddy to rest beside him.
Soon, I’d be joining them on that long road, reunited at last.
I stood there in a daze, watching the sun rise and set, lost in my grief.
After what felt like an eternity, the staff finally coaxed me back to the main house.
They commented on how thin I’d gotten and urged me to eat dinner. But my heart ached. They could see my suffering, but my husband was completely focused on another woman.
I picked at my food but couldn’t swallow anything. In the worried glances of the staff, I excused myself to the bedroom.
Lying in bed, sleep eluded me.
Staring at the white ceiling after, I was flooded with memories of eleven years ago. That day marked one year since we adopted Buddy. Despite his own hunger, Alexander bought a big cake for Buddy’s birthday, celebrating the day we rescued him.
He had promised to celebrate Buddy’s birthday every year.
My brother had teased Alexander, saying he treated Buddy better than people, calling him family.
But now, Chelsea shed a few tears, and Alexander brushed aside Buddy’s death as if it were nothing—like Buddy had deserved it somehow.
I couldn’t shake the image of Buddy lying in a pool of blood, and my heart felt like it was tearing apart. My whole body ached as if it were crumbling.
I fumbled for some painkillers, and after swallowing them, the pain finally eased a little.
But the agony persisted, and I was drenched in cold sweat, too weak to move, my eyelids heavy.
Just as I was about to drift off, the bed sank beside me, and Alexander’s hands found me, pushing my skirt up to my waist.
I realized it was him.
His hands, once tender and familiar, now felt foreign, coated with Chelsea’s perfume. I recoiled in disgust.
“Don’t touch me!”