Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought… maybe if she just disappeared, he’d get over it. She wasn’t the dog I wanted.
She’s… scruffy, and… I didn’t think she’d fit here.”
I could barely believe what I was hearing. I felt anger and hurt boiling inside me. “So you just… let her go?
You thought he’d just forget about her?”
“I didn’t know he’d… he’d go after her,” she stammered, her voice breaking. “I thought he’d just be sad for a day or two, then move on. I didn’t want this mess.
I just… wanted things to be normal.”
“Normal?” I repeated, disbelief thick in my voice. “You put him in danger because you couldn’t handle a little mess?”
She sank down into a chair, covering her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry.
I didn’t know he’d do something so… so brave, or that Daisy would stay with him. I didn’t think.”
I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around it. I looked over at our son, snuggled up with Daisy on the couch, her head resting on his lap.
They’d bonded through something none of us had expected, and they had an unbreakable connection now.
“I don’t know how we move past this,” I said quietly. “But for now… Daisy stays. She’s a part of this family.
And I think you need to find a way to accept that.”
She nodded, wiping her eyes, understanding the weight of what had happened.
As I watched my son stroke Daisy’s fur, a small, hopeful warmth rose in my chest. Family wasn’t about having things perfect. Sometimes, it was about the imperfect moments, the scruffy dogs, and the quiet forgiveness that held us all together.
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Source: amomama
