Chapter 10 - Clear Skies
By May, the Ohio winter had finally broken.
The garden behind my bungalow had exploded into wild, fragrant life—peonies pushing their heavy pink heads through the black mulch, lilac bushes perfuming the afternoon breeze.
The back screen door banged open with a cheerful wooden *slap*.
Daisy bounded down the wooden deck stairs, chasing a yellow tennis ball across the lush green lawn.
Behind her came Baxter.
His gait was slow, his muzzle entirely silver now, but his hips were supported by daily hydrotherapy and top-tier anti-inflammatory medication. He trotted with a gentle, dignified sway, his tail sweeping through the grass like a golden flag.
He didn't sleep on concrete anymore. He had an orthopedic memory foam bed in every single room of my house, positioned deliberately beneath the sunny squares of the afternoon windows.
I sat on the wide cedar porch, barefoot, wearing a soft linen shirt, holding a cold glass of iced tea with fresh mint from my garden.
My phone rested on the wicker table beside me.
It was Mother’s Day.
Earlier that morning, a long, wandering text message had arrived from Mom’s new phone number. It was filled with complaints about Dad’s health, the tiny kitchen in their new house, and how Ryan never visited them unless he needed money for rent.
At the bottom, she had written:
*“We made mistakes, Claire. But we are still your parents. Blood is thicker than water. Can you find it in your heart to bring the dogs out for dinner this Sunday? We miss them. We miss you.”*
I looked at the message for ten seconds.
I didn't feel rage. I didn't feel that cold, sickening tightness in my chest that had governed my childhood. I felt nothing at all—the vast, beautiful, silent expanse of indifference.
I swiped the notification away. Then I tapped into the settings and blocked the number permanently.
"Baxter! Daisy! Inside, guys!"
Daisy came sprinting up the steps, her tongue lolling sideways from her mouth, dropping the wet tennis ball neatly at my toes. Baxter followed at his own steady pace, resting his heavy, velvet chin on my bare knee, his brown eyes clear, bright, and completely unafraid.
I leaned down and kissed the soft white fur between his ears. He smelled of clean sunshine, fresh grass, and the sweet lavender wash the groomer had used on him two days ago.
"Good boy," I whispered.
May you like
We walked inside together.
I didn't lock the back door. I didn't lock the bedrooms. Every door in the house stood wide open, bathed in the warm, golden light of an afternoon that belonged entirely to me.
