For 16 years, I was the perfect housewife, giving up my dreams to support my husband Mark.
My only solace was my 14-year-old dog, Buddy.
When Buddy suddenly became paralyzed, I was terrified and helpless.
It was then that Mark told me to trust him and sent his assistant to take us to the best vet.
He publicly declared that Buddy was family and money was no object.
From then on, he paid for the most expensive treatments.
I had never felt so supported, and I fell completely for his renewed affection.
A week later, Buddy miraculously started walking again, and I prepared a huge thank-you dinner.
Everything changed right before they came home.
I went to Mark's study to find a vintage wine and accidentally overheard his phone call with his coworker, Chloe.
"Are you sure Kate believes the dog is cured?" Chloe's voice echoed through the speaker. "We can't wait any longer to move in together!"
"Do you think I'd let her keep that mutt?" Mark replied coldly.
"But she thinks you saved it!"
"That's exactly why I paid the vet to inject the dog with a temporary stimulant before the lethal dose kicks in tonight."
***
Buddy's hind legs seized and thrashed against the cold hardwood as I knelt beside him. My hands shook too badly to steady him. Beneath my palms, his heart battered against his ribs in an erratic rhythm.
"Shh, I have you," I whispered. I wiped a streak of saliva from his gray muzzle.
Fourteen years earlier, Mark had left for a six-month assignment in London, and the house had turned cavernous in his absence. A two-month-old golden retriever puppy became my anchor. Now that same dog lay paralyzed on the floor, unable to raise himself.
I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder and gripped Buddy's nylon harness, dragging his hundred-pound body toward the living room rug. My sneakers skidded on the floorboards.
The line rang six times. I hit redial.
I pulled again. Buddy let out a sharp whine.
On the seventh attempt, he answered. Applause and cheering exploded through the speaker, and I jerked the phone away from my ear.
"What is it?" Mark hissed, keeping his voice low.
"It's Buddy." I dragged him another two inches onto the carpet, sweat stinging my eyes. "He collapsed. His hind legs are paralyzed. I need you home now. Help me get him to the emergency vet."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Do I sound like I'm kidding?"
"Chloe's daughter is about to get her dance award," Mark said under his breath. "Do you have to ruin the mood right now?"
My hands froze on the harness. "Ruin the mood?"
"Yes, Kate. Ruin the mood."
"Our dog is dying on the floor, Mark."
"He's fourteen. He's ancient. Just let him rest."
"He's seizing. He needs a doctor. He's in pain."
"I refuse to walk out in the middle of the ceremony. It would look terrible to Chloe and the other parents."
"You're at a dance recital for another woman's kid while your own dog—"
"Stop being so dramatic," Mark interrupted. "I'll look at him when I get home."
"Mark, he's unable to stand. I'm not strong enough to lift him by myself."
"Ask a neighbor," he said.
"It's ten o'clock at night. Everyone is asleep."
"Then leave him on the floor. I have to go. They're calling Lily's name."
"You care more about Chloe's daughter than your own family?"
"Don't start this again, Kate. I'm hanging up."
The line went dead.
The black screen blurred in front of me. I swiped a rough hand across my face, pulling up Aiden's contact.
My fifteen-year-old son. Since he was old enough to skate, I had risen at five for his pregame meals and driven him to tournaments across three states. Now he was a six-foot athlete, strong enough to lift a dog.
The phone rang twice before he answered. Heavy bass music thumped in the background.
"Mom, what?" Aiden groaned over the noise.
"Aiden, I need you home." My voice broke. "Buddy is paralyzed. I can't lift him into the car alone."
Aiden scoffed. The sound cut right through the speaker. "Seriously? I'm at the post-game party."
"Please. I just need you to come lift him into the back seat. You can go right back to the party."
"Are you deaf? I'm hanging out with my friends."
"Your dog can't walk, Aiden."
"Buddy is old anyway. You really want to ruin everyone's night just for a dog?"
The words knocked the breath out of me. "He's been there for you since you were a baby."
"Tell Dad to do it."
"Your father refused to come."
"Well, neither am I. I'm not missing this party to deal with a dying dog."
"Aiden, please. He's terrified. He keeps looking for you."
"Mom, you're being ridiculous. He's just a dog."
"He slept at the foot of your bed for ten years. He guarded your crib."
"Yeah, and now he's ancient. What do you expect me to do? Magically heal him?"
"I expect you to act like you care."
"Stop calling me. You're embarrassing me in front of the guys."
The call dropped.
The house fell silent except for Buddy's rapid, shallow panting.
I tasted copper. I had bitten through my lower lip, and blood trickled down my chin.
"Okay, buddy," I whispered. I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand. "Just you and me."
I pulled the winter blanket from the sofa and rolled his limp body onto its center. Gathering the four corners, I twisted them into a makeshift handle.
I planted my feet and hauled upward. Pain tore through my shoulders as the makeshift stretcher scraped across the floor like sandpaper.
"Hold on, Buddy," I muttered. Sweat dripped down my forehead, stinging my eyes.
I pulled him toward the front door. I nudged the door open with my hip. The cold night air hit my face, biting into my flushed skin.
At the porch steps, the blanket bumped over the concrete. I leaned back with my full weight to keep him from tumbling.
We reached the driveway. Somehow, I wrestled him into the back seat, climbed behind the wheel, and drove.
