Chapter 2

Michael's voice was quiet and calm, yet every word fell heavy as a boulder, crashing onto my heart and leaving me gasping in pain.

A deathly silence hung over the living room.

Only Sally's soft sniffling mingled with Snowball's frightened scratching and desperate whimpering from the balcony.

"It didn't do it on purpose, Michael." My voice turned dry and hoarse, laced with quiet pleading. "It has never bitten anyone. Something must be wrong. Maybe it's sick."

Michael undid his tie and tossed it carelessly onto the sofa, his face lined with exhaustion and impatience.

He looked at me with cold, unyielding resolve, no trace of softness in his eyes. "Emily, it bit Sally. It bit our daughter, the child we cherish more than anything.

"This is not like it ruining a pair of shoes or knocking over a vase, something we can easily forgive.

"This is an uncrossable line, for everyone and everything."

I had no retort, my throat tight and constricted, unable to utter a single word.

Reason told me Michael was right: a child's safety should always come first.

Yet emotionally, I could never bring myself to accept it.

This was Snowball, the companion who had stayed by my side for eight years, walking with me through countless hard days.

It was the one that would pad over quietly and rest its head on my feet when I worked late into the night, keeping me company in silence amid my exhaustion.

It was the one that would fetch my favorite toy and nudge it toward me carefully when I quarreled with Michael and cried alone in my room, trying its best to cheer me up.

It was the one that stood guard faithfully outside the bathroom door during my pregnancy bouts of morning sickness, refusing to leave my side.

How could it turn into the dangerous creature Michael insisted had to be disposed of?

I was trying so hard to find some kind of compromise, my words full of one last desperate plea. "I'll take it to the vet for a full checkup tomorrow.

"If it's sick, we'll treat it. Once it recovers, this will never happen again."

Michael cut me off without hesitation, his tone firm and uncompromising. "No need for a checkup. I will never allow an animal with a record of aggression to live under the same roof as our daughter. Either it leaves, or..."

He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Yet the oppressive weight of his unspoken words loomed over me like a towering mountain, suffocating and inescapable.

The night outside deepened, the darkness growing thicker and heavier.

Sally cried herself to sleep in my arms, her brows still tightly furrowed as if trapped in a nightmare.

Michael did not return to our bedroom; he slept in the study. It was a clear sign of the standoff between us.

I sat alone in the dark living room, leaving the lights off, letting the shadows wrap around me completely.

From the balcony came Snowball's intermittent faint whimpers, weak and despairing, each twist of sound wrenching at my heart.

My heart was torn brutally in two. On one side lay reason and motherhood, bound to the daughter I'd carried for nine months and treasured above all else.

On the other side lay affection and memory, bound to Snowball, who had long become family over eight years.

I unlocked my phone, scrolling through the photo album filled with snapshots of Snowball and Sally, brimming with warm memories.

Pictures of Snowball as a tiny fluffy ball when it first came home, hiding shyly under the sofa.

Photos of it leaning cautiously over the crib when Sally was newborn, sniffing her tiny feet gently, afraid of hurting her.

Snapshots of it trotting closely behind Sally as she learned to walk, a little guardian keeping her from falling.

Warm scenes flashed before my eyes like a film reel, vivid as if they had happened only yesterday.

Tears slid silently down my cheeks, dropping onto the cold phone screen and blurring into faint water stains.

I couldn't do it.

I truly couldn't bring myself to send Snowball away with my own hands.

Yet the two clear bite marks on Sally's arm lingered in my mind, a sharp thorn stabbing into my eyes and my heart.

What if it happened again? What if it hurt Sally once more?

I dared not imagine it, dared not take the risk.

I lay awake all night, staring into the darkness until dawn.

By morning, my eyes were bloodshot, and my heart felt hollow, as if all the life had been drained out of me.

I picked up my phone and dialed the number I only used for Snowball's vaccinations and routine physical exams.

It belonged to Bruce Lewis, the gentle, patient veterinarian at the pet hospital.

The call connected, and Bruce's warm voice came through the line. "Hello?"

"Dr. Lewis, it's Emily Wayne. I'd like to inquire about... euthanasia." My voice grated, harsh and raw, barely recognizable even to myself.

The words escaped me with unbearable difficulty, each syllable slicing at my heart.

There was a brief silence on the other end, laced with surprise and confusion. "Emily, is something wrong with Snowball? Its last checkup showed it was perfectly healthy."

"I-It bit my daughter." It took every ounce of my strength to utter those words.

The moment they left my lips, I broke down completely, covering my mouth and sinking to the floor in quiet, shuddering sobs, releasing all the sorrow I'd bottled up through the long night.

In the end, I had made my choice, the cruel, inevitable choice a mother had to make.