Boots & Curls

It hit me this morning…the email I’ve been waiting on, praying for. The one that said I got approved. The one that should’ve made me jump up, scream, throw a fist in the air, call everyone I love and say, “I did it. I have a place. My place.”

But I didn’t. I just stood there in this fake, new bathroom light on the toilet in a place that isn’t HOME anymore, I’m just… there…phone in my lap, dogs at my feet, and this strange ache crawling down my spine like something had been extracted…ripped out of me in the final step of becoming…separate.

This isn’t home anymore. Fuck. Not really. Not ours. Not mine and Owen’s. It’s just the place where I sleep now, where Remi curls against my neck like he’s guarding something only he can see, and where Peanut won’t stop pacing unless she’s pressed to one or both of our bodies… pressed to my thigh, like she’s holding me together with her tiny stubborn body and a bladder she still hasn’t mastered.

They know. They always knew.

Even when I didn’t.

There were signs, of course. The phone flipped over on the nightstand. The drop-offs. The “late nights.” The sudden sweetness from a man who once hated words like “cuddle” and “lay with me.” He’d wrap his arms around me in the kitchen and kiss the back of my neck and I’d pretend it wasn’t strange…pretend it was progress. But part of me flinched. Part of me knew.

And then came the unraveling.

The arrest. The job loss. The fighting. The desperate trying. The cheating.

The miscarriage.

Yes, that too.

While I smiled through patient calls and paperwork, while I trained in a brand-new job like my world wasn’t quietly falling apart beneath the desk this brand new counter and desk…I was bleeding. Losing. Holding my stomach in the bathroom and telling myself to keep going. That if I just made it to 5 o’clock, I could cry in the car. And I did. So many times. Parked PURPOSELY away so nobody would see me just scream and breathe and cry and let it out.

But nothing prepared me for Hemi.

She died four days into that job. On my side of the bed.

I’d left that morning with her gasping…foaming at the mouth, her eyes locked on mine like she knew. And I didn’t call Owen. I couldn’t. I knew he’d panic. I knew I’d break. I left her there, and maybe that’s something I’ll always carry…it fucking BREAKS ME to this day. Maybe part of me died too the moment I walked out that door.

But she chose her place. That was her daddy. And I had no right to intervene as much as I begged and tried to talk gently about it to him. But I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve pushed. The money to put her down and let her sleep was ok. But his anger just scared me and he was so attached to her. But I should’ve tried harder ….have spoken up.

She chose the floor beside my nightstand. Not his. Not the front door or the kitchen or the crate.

Right next to Remi.

They were never close. He’s all wiggles and caution and she was this quiet old soul with stormcloud eyes, beautiful old stormy eyes….and a tired spine and a sick throat and lungs that tried to make up for it. But that morning, something passed between them. Something unspoken. I think she knew he’d hold vigil. I think she knew he’d stay with her until someone came home. That breaks my heart for not only Hemi but Remi…because if Temi could have been out of his crate he would have comforted her. I know that sweet boy.

She didn’t go to Peanut. Peanut would’ve whined and fussed and been scared and loud. But Remi? Remi understood.

Now here I am. A woman with a key to a new address. A woman who asked for space. Who drew the line. Who still lays on the couch some nights and wonders if it was all a fever dream…the love, the loss, the trauma, the high, the crash.

And Remi won’t leave my chest.

Peanut won’t let me out of her sight.

They know I’m scared.

They know this isn’t the kind of freedom I imagined.

They know I miss Owen. Even after everything.

They know I’m tired of being the strong one, the forgiving one, the one who always tries. Not to say he doesn’t. But I have no reason to at this point ya know?

They know what I gave up to get here.

They know I wanted to come home today. Home. Need to stop using that word. This isn’t home.

But instead, I came to this.

A new space. An unfamiliar air. A silent apology to Hemi.

And maybe…just maybe…a chance to find peace.

But not before I cry into a dog’s fur.

Not before I say her name.

Not before I remind myself that even when the humans fail me…

They still know.