Chapter 2
The apartment felt empty the second I unlocked the door. Not bad-empty, like when Daisy had an upset tummy and left me a present on the rug.
No. This was quiet-empty. Okay, maybe it as a teensy bit hollow-empty.
Murphy didn't notice, of course. He barreled past me into the living room, toenails clattering against the hardwood as he bounded toward his toy basket.
Finch leapt down from the back of the couch and wound around my ankles like nothing was amiss.
Daisy gave a soft, low whine, though. My special girl knew.
She always knew.
I toed off my sneakers and stepped inside. That's when I saw it.
The space along the hallway wall where the modern art piece Oscar had given me for my birthday had hung was bare.
The extra pair of sneakers he'd kept here that normally lined up by the door was gone.
It all amounted to a bunch of little things, but together they built up to quite a bit, and I felt it more than I thought I would.
I stood there for a long moment, stomach knotted, until the truth sank in.
He'd really taken all his stuff. Walked away. From me.
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be feeling. Sad? Sure. Disappointed? Definitely. But mostly... I felt relief. For the first time in what felt like months, it felt like I could breathe.
And that made me feel guilty. What kind of boy was relieved when his Daddy left him?
I slid down onto the couch, curling my knees to my chest. Daisy immediately wedged her massive head into my lap, huffing warm air over my skin. My throat tightened, and I pressed my face into the scruff between her ears.
"I don't get it, girl," I whispered, voice cracking. "I should be a mess, right? He was supposed to take care of me. He was supposed to—" My words tripped over themselves and I stopped, blinking hard, the lump in my throat making it hard to say anything else.
Tofu, my other cat baby, hopped onto the back of the couch, tail flicking. Murphy squeaked his toy in the background like my life hadn’t just taken a detour. Like things weren’t falling down around us.
The thing was... only part of me had fallen apart.
The other part? It was whispering that maybe I deserved better.
I wiped my hands on my thighs and sat up.
Enough of this.
I wasn't going to sit here feeling bad about not feeling bad about someone who'd never actually been what he promised to be. What I needed was... little time.
The thought wrapped around me like a blanket. If Daddy wasn't here, I could still be safe. I could still take care of me.
I didn't need a Daddy.
I padded into my bedroom, pets trailing after me like a mismatched parade. Daisy thumped onto the rug with a sigh. Finch leapt onto the dresser.
I opened the closet and tugged out the soft bundle tucked away at the back.
My favourite footie pyjamas. They were pretty purple with little white clouds.
The zipper was a bit finicky, but once I wriggled in, I felt myself shrinking down inside, softer, smaller, safer.
I pulled on my knitted hat with the floppy bunny ears, grabbed my dummy from the nightstand, and padded back into the living room with Murphy squeaking at my heels.
I settled criss-cross applesauce on the couch, clutching my favourite soft blanket, and exhaled. This was better... This was...
My focus zeroed in on the coffee table.
A folded piece of paper, with my name scrawled across it in Oscar's handwriting.
The air whooshed out of me as my stomach flipped. He left me a damn goodbye letter.
What could he even say that wouldn't be a complete mindfuck? I didn't want to read it, but my hands moved of their own accord and picked it up, anyway.
Good luck with those damn pets of yours.
Bet they'll be getting sick again soon and you'll come crying back to me when they all die.
Don't bother. I won't take you, even if you were the last boy on earth.
The dummy nearly slipped from my lips. My chest squeezed so tight it hurt.
I couldn't believe he would say something like that. So my babies had some health issues. Who wouldn't if they came from the situations we'd rescued them from?
Oh. My. Gawd.
No. No!
He wouldn't!
Would he?
My eyes flew to Finch, perched on the arm of the sofa. To Tofu, blinking his one golden eye at me. Oscar had been alone with them while I was gone. He hated the cats even more than the dogs.
No, no, no, no!
The room tilted and my mind raced in jagged, awful directions. What if he'd... what if he'd put something in their food? In their water?
What if that monster made my babies sick?
"Finchie?" My voice cracked high, scared as I picked Finch up and cradled him close to me. "Baby, are you okay?"
He just meowed, flicking his tail. But I swore it looked like his eyes were more milky than usual.
Daisy nudged my arm, whining, clearly picking up on my rising anxiety. I dropped Finch onto my lap, and moved my hands to her head, and I tucked my face into her neck while trying to soothe myself at the same time trying to calm down my puppy.
A squeak from the floor had me looking over to Murphy and his lopsided, slobbery face. At least I knew the two dogs would be fine.
My heart pounded. I scrambled off the couch, quickly grabbing the bowls from the kitchen floor before Oscar's possible poisoning spread through to my other babies. I'd keep them though, in case I needed the contents for evidence or something.
My hands were shaking so hard the metal bowls clattered against the counter and Daisy backed away from me, her ears flat, like she didn't understand what was going on with me.
Everything looked normal. But what if… What if he sprinkled something in there? Something I couldn't see?
My eyes blurred. I checked the bowls were out of reach even if one of the kitties jumped onto the counter before crouching down to check each pet.
One by one, I ran my hands over them, fumbling, desperate and very aware I was acting like a loon. I mean, I knew he wouldn't. I might not be happy with the ultimatum, but he wasn't a monster.
But what if?
Ugh!
I stumbled to my phone on the counter and dialed the emergency vet clinic, voice breaking as soon as someone answered.
"H—Hi, I don't know what to do," I stammered. "My... ex just left, and I think he might have... might have poisoned my cats. I had the dogs with me, and I don't think they had anything from the bowls when we got back, but I might have missed it and I don't know—"
The woman's voice was calm, steady, practiced. She asked me if I saw any vomiting, diarrhea, seizures, anything unusual.
I shook my head wildly, even though she couldn't see me, and then realised what I was doing.
"No, but... but he left a note and we kind of broke up because of the pets and.
.." I paused and took a deep breath, my voice shaking with unshed tears.
"I know it's probably nothing, but I can't shake the feeling that something might be wrong. "
"Okay, honey," the woman soothed, and my chest squeezed tighter because she sounded more like a Caregiver than Oscar ever had.
"It's alright. You took the hardest step and made the call even though there are no visible signs of poisoning.
Now next, take the food and water bowls away.
Then you have to decide if you want to keep them there for a few hours and watch them, or bring them in. "
I nodded along with her and quickly informed her that the bowls had already been removed and that I'd rather come in as soon as possible as my babies already had some health issues.
"That's fine, honey. You bring them in, and the doc will check them out."
When the call ended, I was left in silence, wondering if it would be too weird if I went to the vet with my dummy and blanket. While wearing my footy jammies.