Later that night, as my son tucked Daisy into an old fleece blanket and whispered to her like she was some sacred treasure, I stood in the hallway watching.
“I’ll never let anyone take you away,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. He was ten. Ten, and already too soft-hearted for this world. He didn’t understand that pets were an extension of image. A statement. You don’t make a statement with a rescue—you make compromises.
By midnight, I’d made my decision.