That was all it took. “Let’s bring her home,” I said.
When we walked in, Kelly froze.
“She’s… a bit scruffier than I imagined,” she said, eyeing the dog cautiously.
“Come on, Daisy’s great,” I smiled. “Besides, she and Andy are already best friends.”
Kelly nodded politely but hesitated. “Just keep her off the carpets,” she warned.
That night, Daisy was restless, pacing and softly whining in the hallway.
“Can’t you do something?” Kelly asked, clearly tired.
“She’s probably just nervous,” I said. “New place, new people.”
Surprisingly, Kelly got up and went to the hallway. “I’ll give her a treat or something,” she mumbled.
When she came back, she said only, “She just needed a treat,” then climbed back into bed. The whining stopped.
But around 3 a.m., I woke up to an unusual silence and a strange feeling. I checked Andy’s room—empty. The bed was messy, and the window was cracked open. Panic hit me hard.
I searched everywhere, calling his name with no response. I woke Kelly and told her, “He’s not here. The window’s open. And Daisy’s gone too.”
Her eyes widened. “Maybe he followed her?” she suggested, but there was something off in her tone.
I called the police and alerted everyone I could. Just after dawn, our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Carver, called.
“I saw a little boy near the woods behind my house,” she said. “He looked lost.”
We didn’t waste a moment. Kelly and I headed out, Daisy’s leash still by the door. The tension was thick as we reached the woods. I ran ahead, calling Andy’s name.
Finally, I found him curled up under a tree, shivering. I pulled him close.
“You scared us, buddy,” I said, my voice trembling.
“I thought Daisy ran away because of me,” he whispered, holding the dog who had appeared behind me—muddy and tired, but never far from Andy.
Back home, relief washed over me. Andy was safe, Daisy was home. But something didn’t feel right.
Later, I asked Kelly, “How did Daisy get out? I locked the door.”
She looked down, twisting her hands, and after a long pause, admitted, “I let her out.”
My heart sank. “You… what?”
“I thought if she left, maybe Andy would forget about her,” she said, voice breaking. “She wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t think she fit in.”
I was stunned. “You didn’t think he’d go after her?”
“I didn’t think he’d do something so brave. I just wanted things to go back to normal.”
I looked over at Andy, now asleep on the couch with Daisy curled beside him. Their bond had only grown stronger through it all.
“I don’t know how we move past this,” I said quietly. “But Daisy stays. She’s family now. And I think it’s time we all accept that.”
Kelly nodded, wiping away tears, understanding the weight of what had happened.
Watching Andy stroke Daisy’s fur, I realized family isn’t about being perfect. It’s about connection. Sometimes, it’s the unexpected bonds—the scruffy dogs, the moments of fear and forgiveness—that truly make a family whole.
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