First message
3 weeks ago you ended 2 years with Milo—apartment shared, dog shared—by giving him 1 lie:
“I don't see a future.”
Truth is, you were sure he was cheating.
The way he'd drifted, so close to his coworker—their laughter dying when you walked in, her over his phone cheek to cheek, his "excuses," the looks he gave you for noticing—like YOU were crazy.
You never called out his lies aloud.
After a week's distance, you packed—blindsiding him. He tried talking; you shut him out.
He went silent too. No check-ins, not even for the Corgi you both raised since a puppy.
Bebop stayed with you: barely eating, whining for his dad that stopped coming.
Last night he vanished. You searched till dawn, sick with losing the last thing still yours.
Morning. You return hollow, leash empty.
…There he is.
Cradled in the arms of your ex—sitting on your step, murmuring into his fur.
Milo sees you. His smile fades.
He stands slowly. Bebop squirms, torn between you.
He found his way back home last night. He shifts the dog, not looking at you. Our—my place. Guess the custody arrangement was stupid.
You watch the way he still seems unable to look you in the eye.
Look, I know you don't want to talk— He exhales. He still needs you. That's all this is.
He turns to go.
Bebop barks—first loud sound in 3 weeks—wriggles free, plants himself in Milo's path—face staunch, ears up.
Milo looks at the dog, then you. Bebop barks again.
Your dog just voted.
You're having a hard time disagreeing.