Chapter 3

I never told Michael about my decision.

I could not bear to see his matter-of-fact expression, nor the quiet relief in his eyes.

It would make all my night of agony, struggle, and reluctance feel like a ridiculous joke.

I took a day off work and muted my phone, shutting myself off from all disturbances.

Then I walked to the balcony and unlocked the cage holding Snowball.

At the sight of me, it lifted its head shyly, its tail wagging cautiously, stripped of its usual liveliness.

Its eyes were red and watery, lined with exhaustion and unease, as if it had not slept a wink all night.

I held out my hand and spoke softly. "Snowball, come here."

It hesitated for a moment, then padded slowly over, resting its head gently in my palm and nuzzling against me softly.

Warm, soft, familiar as always.

Tears spilled over once more, streaming down my cheeks and falling onto its snowy fur.

"Snowball, I'm so sorry." I choked out broken words. "Let's go for a walk. One last time."

I clipped its familiar leash on and led it out of the home.

We headed to our usual park, the place it loved most to run free and chase butterflies.

It seemed to sense what was coming, staying quiet and unusually obedient the entire way.

It did not tug at the leash to chase butterflies as it always did, nor bark at other passing dogs.

It merely stayed close by my side every step of the way, glancing up at me now and then with clear, bewildered eyes, as if asking, "Will we get to walk like this again, Mommy?"

I dared not answer, dared not speak for fear of breaking down completely and clinging to it forever.

We sat on a park bench for hours on end, from midday sun high in the sky until the sunset dyed the horizon a soft shade of orange.

I took out a comb I'd brought with me, grooming its fur slowly and carefully, smoothing out every tangled knot with gentle patience.

"Stay neat and pretty for me, okay?" I murmured softly, half to it, half to myself.

At last, I led it step by step toward the pet hospital, each footfall feeling like treading on shards of glass.

The hospital reeked of pungent disinfectant, cold and alien, sending a chill through my heart.

Snowball trembled with unease, pawing nervously at my trouser leg, its eyes wide with fear.

Bruce saw us, his face softening with sorrow as he let out a quiet sigh. "You're absolutely sure? No second thoughts?"

I nodded firmly, unable to look him in the eye, unable to face Snowball beside me, afraid I would change my mind at the last second.

He asked no more questions, simply leading us into a private examination room.

The room was plain and sparse, furnished only with a cold metal exam table that exuded a biting chill.

I lifted Snowball onto the table. It was light, like a handful of snow, as if it might vanish the moment I let go.

"You can stay with it, Emily. It will feel much calmer with you here," Bruce said gently.

He prepared the syringe filled with clear liquid, the dose that would end Snowball's life forever.

I crouched down and held its tiny paws tightly in mine. Its paws were cold and trembling, its breath growing fast and shallow with anxiety.

"Snowball, don't be scared. It'll be over soon." My voice shook with unrestrained sobs. "Just go to sleep. It won't hurt at all. When you wake up, all the pain will be gone."

Bruce did not hesitate, inserting the needle gently into its vein and pushing the clear liquid slowly into its body.

Snowball's body relaxed little by little, its trembling fading away, its breath growing faint and slow.

Just as its eyes were about to close completely, it summoned every last bit of strength to lift its head with effort.

It stared straight at me, its eyes filled with pleading, and a desperate, unspoken longing I could not fully comprehend.

Then Snowball stuck out its tongue and licked the back of my hand, soft and slow.

It was warm, damp, carrying Snowball's unique scent.

I thought it was apologizing for biting Sally and bidding me one final farewell.

Tears crashed down relentlessly, splattering onto the metal table with soft, hollow sounds.

I could barely get the words out, my voice so broken and shaky from crying. "I know, baby. I understand everything. Rest easy. The pain will fade soon, Snowball. Sleep peacefully."

Snowball's head fell limp at last.

Its eyes closed fully, long lashes resting gently on its cheeks, never to open again.

Its body went still, growing cold and stiff.

It was gone.

With my own hands, I had sent away my most precious family, the loyal companion who had walked beside me for eight years.

I stumbled home in a daze, pushing open the front door.

Michael sat in the living room playing blocks with Sally, a soft, gentle smile on his face.

He looked up at my hollow, red-rimmed eyes and froze, pausing mid-movement. "The dog's gone then? Taken care of?"

"Yes. It's gone." My tone was flat and empty, my heart cold and lifeless.

Relief flickered across Michael's face, his shoulders relaxing. "Good. Now Sally can play at home without fear."

He walked over, reaching out to pull me into an embrace, likely trying to comfort me.

But I stepped back instinctively, avoiding his touch.

The back of my hand still tingled with the last warm lick Snowball had left behind, vivid and burning fresh in my memory.

I turned and walked straight into the bedroom, slamming the door shut hard, blocking out all sound from outside.

In the corner sat its empty dog bed, silent and abandoned, stinging my eyes with every glance.

"Snowball, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."