I was about to say goodbye to Duncan.
He came rushing out with a shopping list in his hand, frantic：
“Go to the market and get some soup bones. I need them now!”
“Right now. Not a second later.”
I watched him panic and felt my mouth twist into a smirk. I already knew why he was so worked up.
Just minutes ago, Lorna had posted on social media, crying about how her dog had tumbled down the stairs and hurt its leg.
And Duncan was ordering me around like this for a dog I had never even met.
He stared at me, waiting, fully expecting me to do what I'd always done.
Rush to the market, pick out the best cuts, and have a pot of rich bone broth ready for him before he could blink.
But I didn't move. I turned and walked back toward the bedroom to lie down.
“The market's closed. If you want bones, go yourself.”
The words flew out of him on reflex：“You're just being lazy. I keep a roof over your head, and you can't even handle something this small?”
I shut the door. Hard. Let the silence answer for me.
For years, all he had to do was mention a craving and I'd rack my brain figuring out how to make it perfect, nicking my fingers on the knife more times than I could count, burning my arms on hot pans.
And all it ever earned me was one label: the freeloader who ate and drank on his dime.
He was about to knock when Lorna called. Her voice came through nasal and thick, all guilt.
“It's all my fault. Don't make Sabina do it. My dog can't compare to the baby in her belly. I'll take care of Lucky myself. Just stay with her, okay?”
His whole expression went soft in an instant, like he was looking at the only person who mattered.
“Don't worry. I've already called the vet.”
“Stay with her? She does nothing but pull faces at me. Forget about it—I'm getting a professional chef to make the broth right now. Lucky's going to be fine.”
He hung up and headed straight for the walk-in closet, digging through my clothes and bags, pulling out the nicest, most expensive pieces and packing them up.
“Lorna mentioned last time that she liked these limited-edition ones. She's upset right now. I'll bring them over to cheer her up.”
I didn't move. I kept my back to him, pretending to be asleep.
Duncan filled a large bag, then kept rummaging, until finally, in the bottom compartment, he found the box of baby clothes.
“You bought so many. The biggest ones can go to Lucky—not like you'll be needing them anytime soon.”
I sat up instantly.
I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
Duncan was holding up the baby clothes I had picked out piece by piece, each one hand-washed so gently I was afraid to damage the fabric.
For Lorna's dog.
I hadn't thought he could be this heartless. Not a single thought spared for his own child. Everything I'd poured my heart into, every scrap of love in those tiny clothes—handed off to a dog.
Something surged through my body, some strength I didn't know I had left. I was on my feet, blocking his path, snatching the clothes out of his hands and pressing them to my chest.
“Take everything else I own. I don't care. But you do not touch the baby's things.”
These were meant for the seventh-day burning—every last piece sent to my baby as an offering.
He never got to see this world. He left in pain before he ever opened his eyes. Did he not even deserve a set of clothes?
Duncan's brow twisted with impatience, and he reached out to shove me aside：
“It's a few outfits. Why are you being so petty? I'll buy more later.”
He grabbed the clothes from my arms anyway. When he saw I wouldn't let go, something flickered across his face, half irritation, half embarrassment.
“Sabina, do you really think throwing a fit over a dog is worth it?”
