One sleepless day and night.
After countless hours of work, I finally completed my final task at the institute.
When the last document was handed over, my juniors hugged me tightly, reluctant to let go, their warmth wrapping around me like a soft farewell.
But the warmth ended at the lab doors.
The moment I opened the villa gate, a chilling scene stopped me cold.
Floating silently in the pool was a soaked, lifeless Yorkshire terrier.
His once-fluffy fur drifted gently with the ripples, as though trying to wag one last time.
Greeting me. Saying goodbye.
I stood frozen, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.
Then came the voice, bright and cruel, from behind me.
“Who told you to bully Aunt Loren? This is your punishment!”
Abraham laughed, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
My chest constricted.
Molly.
The stray I rescued six years ago.
It took endless coaxing before Arthur begrudgingly agreed to keep him.
Over the years, Molly became family to me—my silent companion, my shadow, my comforter. In every way that mattered, he was my second child.
And now, he was gone. Drowned.
I stepped forward with trembling hands, reaching toward his tiny, still body. But the moment my fingers touched the cold water, I flinched and drew back.
Tears blurred my vision.
And then—for the first time—I raised my hand and struck my son.
The sound of the slap cracked through the still air.
Abraham clutched his cheek, stunned. His expression twisted, not in remorse, but in fury.
“I don’t want you to be my mother! Dad doesn’t like you either! So why are you still in our house?!”
With that, he turned and ran off, crying—but proud, chin held high.
Every word sliced through me like a blade.
No mother can hear such hatred from her own child and remain whole.
A buzzing filled my ears. My knees nearly gave out.
Still, I swallowed the grief and pain, and quietly buried Molly beneath the old tree he loved to nap under.
I placed his favorite rubber bone beside him, along with the chewed-up ball he always carried in his mouth.
It was as though he’d never existed.
Just like me.
Seven years of selfless care, devotion, and sacrifice—and in the end, I left no trace in this house.
Not in his heart.
Not in either of theirs.
As I finished covering the grave, a sharp breeze brushed past me, carrying with it a familiar scent—fresh mint.
I turned around.
Arthur stood there, arms crossed, face blank.
So alike, he and our son. The same cold detachment. The same pride. The same arrogance.
“You made the first mistake,” he said flatly, eyes flicking to my tear-streaked face. “But Abraham’s reaction was too much. Still, it doesn’t make sense for a dog to pay for a human’s mistake.”
His voice held no warmth. No remorse.
Just judgment.
Then he frowned and walked away.
Don’t worry, I thought bitterly. I won’t be in the way much longer.
I returned to the house and began packing.
It took me less than thirty minutes to gather everything I owned.
Seven years.
And almost nothing here truly belonged to me.
I had bought countless clothes and toys for Abraham over the years, but he never liked them.
Since he didn’t want them, I would give them to children who did.
I hailed a taxi to the welfare home I had contacted.
The director received me warmly, deeply grateful for the clothes and toys I brought. Winter was coming, and every bit helped.
The children gathered excitedly, digging through the toys with bright eyes and delighted laughter.
Their carefree joy was infectious.
For the first time in days—maybe years—my heart felt light.
I had never truly known what “home” felt like, not even as a child. My parents were cold, present in name only.
Yet here, in this small orphanage, I saw children wrapped in laughter, in simplicity, in each other.
And I realized something.
What I’ve longed for all along wasn’t them—not my parents, not Arthur, not even Abraham.
It was that fragile, precious thing called home.
And now that I’d finally understood it... I could let go.
The air felt lighter as I stepped back outside. But my peace was short-lived.
Just as I turned a corner on the walk back, two figures lunged from the shadows.
One threw a sack over my head, and before I could scream, the other grabbed my legs and lifted me into a waiting van.
I kicked, twisted, clawed at the fabric—but a heavy blow slammed into the back of my skull.
Everything went black.
