12. Karla
KARLA
After I felt completely violated by my ex and then again by the swarm of police that had to gather evidence from my home, the girls took me back to Martha’s place.
I didn’t think I had tears left in my body, but apparently my ducts had a secret reserve for when my day got so bad it needed fine print at the bottom.
Martha handed me a glass of pinot noir—actually, “glass” was generous. It was a stemless goblet that could pass for a mixing bowl if you squinted.
“I just can’t wrap my head around all of this,” Martha said while pouring herself and Kari equally aggressive portions.
“Tell me about it.” I chugged down a few large gulps. My throat burned, but in a comforting, wine-blanket way. A security deposit for my dignity.
Kari pulled a throw pillow into her lap and thumbed through a few text messages from her boss. Her nails clicked against the screen like even they were stressed for her.
“I really appreciate you guys skipping work today to help me.” And damn it—the tears started up again. Why were they always ON? “Why am I such an emotional wreck?”
Martha took her seat on the other side of me, slipping an arm around my back with the confidence of someone who had been designated “hugger friend” since the fifth grade. “If you weren’t a wreck, I would be worried about you.”
Kari looked up from her phone long enough to give me a soft, annoyed-sister sort of face. “Don’t mention it, Karla. Honestly, we all work our asses off. We can take a personal day from time to time.”
My gaze snapped to her, offended on behalf of the universe. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Kari?” I teased.
“What?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a workaholic!” she shrilled, then chucked the pillow at me as if proving her point via amateur softball tryouts.
Martha snorted. “Honey, you’re in fucking denial.”
“Whatever. I’m here—isn’t that all that matters?” Kari huff, folding her arms dramatically across her chest.
“Yes.” I leaned my head onto her shoulder. “That is all that matters.”
For several seconds, the three of us sat there in a weirdly peaceful cocoon—the windows open just a crack, the late afternoon breeze pushing in the smell of someone grilling down the block, the quiet hum of the ceiling fan above us.
Their presence settled me in a way that made my ribs loosen, like my body finally believed I wasn’t in danger right this second.
“Oh!” Martha suddenly shot up as a dog food commercial came on—the one with the golden retriever catching a frisbee in slow motion, all cinematic and heroic.
“I almost forgot.” She hurried to the dining table and started flipping through papers like an unhinged detective in a crime drama. “Kari and I thought this might be a good way for you to get out of the house and meet new people.”
She handed me a dog rescue flyer with the cutest puppies on the front—wide eyes, floppy ears, tiny paws that could cure global unrest.
“You want me to meet new people?” I asked, opening the pamphlet. “The love of my life just stabbed me in the back. And stole my dogs.” The words punched out of my chest, sharp and bitter. “Nike and Thor are still out there with him. I don’t know about this.”
Even hearing myself say their names nearly cracked me open again. Nike slept curled under my chin every night. Thor followed me like a tiny, angry shadow with legs. And James had driven off with them—like they were property. Like they didn’t even matter.
That version of me—the one who believed James loved me, loved us—felt like a stranger sitting across the room.
The pamphlet listed upcoming adoption events, training sessions, volunteer meet-ups, and the kind of glossy photos that practically screamed choose me, hooman.
With my job being chaotic as hell, where would I even find the time? But also… puppies.
And maybe… maybe being around dogs that were safe and loved wouldn’t break me. Maybe it would remind me why fighting for Nike and Thor mattered so damn much.
Kari sat up a little, her expression softening. “It’s not to meet a guy or anything. We’re just worried you’ll become a hermit without James encouraging you to get out of the house. We know how you are.”
“Encouraging?” I scoffed. “You mean guilt-tripping me into leaving so he could have the apartment to himself?”
She winced. “Okay, well… yeah. But you know what I meant.”
Martha returned to her seat and rested a hand on my knee. “Just think about it, okay? And the rescue might even have connections. Or advice. People there deal with lost animals all the time.”
That part hit hard. In a good way. “Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll consider it.”
Truthfully, the idea of being around overly enthusiastic rescue people sounded like it might break me or heal me—there was no in-between.
But helping anything helpless was my specialty.
And if I couldn’t protect Nike and Thor right this second, maybe helping other dogs would keep me from completely unraveling.
Dogs didn’t gaslight you. Dogs didn’t manipulate your schedule. Dogs didn’t hide who they were behind shiny promises.
They also liked treats, naps, and being told they were good—a lifestyle I deeply respected.
We drifted into watching stupid daytime television, letting it play in the background like white noise for emotional triage.
It was the perfect way to spend our afternoon—watching Jerry Springer, drinking wine, and realizing that at least I was better off than the poor schmuck just told his fiancée had been in love with a tractor for three years.
“Well,” Martha declared, topping off our glasses again, “at least your ex never tried to throw a folding chair while screaming ‘Love is love!’”
I laughed—an actual, honest laugh that felt like a stretch after crying for hours. “True. James’s chaos was more… psychological warfare. Less table-flipping theatrics.”
Kari nodded sagely. “Honestly, I’d have preferred theatrics. Easier to spot.”
“Same,” I muttered. “The signs were all subtle until they weren’t.”
Silence settled between us—not awkward, just heavy with understanding. Kari nudged me gently with her shoulder.
“You know,” she said, softer than usual, “I’ve seen you bend and fold around other people your whole life. But you don’t have to do that anymore. Not with us. And not with whoever comes next—friend, dog, boyfriend, UPS driver, whatever.”
Her voice cracked just a hair. Kari never cracked. She was the emotional equivalent of an ironclad battleship.
I swallowed hard. “I don’t… know if I remember how to be someone without him. Or without Nike and Thor running around the house.”
“You don’t have to remember,” Martha said quietly. “You just have to start.”
That hit harder than any punch James had thrown at a wall near my face.
Start.
Start choosing myself.
Start healing.
Start reclaiming my own damn story.
Start fighting for my dogs—not from fear, but from strength.
I wiped at my eyes, embarrassed by how wet my cheeks were again. “God, I’m like ninety-percent water at this point.”
“You’re a hydration queen,” Kari deadpanned.
We snorted into our wine.
Martha turned down the TV volume a little. “What’s the part that scares you the most?” she asked gently.
I stared at the coffee table, covered in half-read mail, a lavender candle, and a decorative bowl of decorative balls because Martha had a full-blown Pinterest addiction.
“I think… I’m scared I’ll always feel like this. Like I won’t be able to trust my own judgment again. With people, with myself… with anything. I trusted him with my life. And my dogs. And look how that turned out.”
Martha squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to trust yourself perfectly right away. You just have to trust yourself enough to take the next step. And we’ll help you get Nike and Thor back. One way or another.”
Kari nodded. “And hey—if that next step is socializing with puppies, I’m just saying… there are worse ways to rebuild.”
I smiled despite the ache in my chest. “You guys make it sound easy.”
“It’s not easy,” Martha said. “But it’s doable. And we’ll do it together.”
We drifted into another round of Springer—this time, a couple arguing over whether their baby was fathered by the fiancé, the fiancé’s twin brother, or the twin brother’s neighbor. Somewhere, a producer was popping champagne and laughing into the void.
Kari shook her head. “Humans are exhausting.”
“I vote we all become dogs,” I slurred. “Sleep, snacks, and yelling when we want attention.”
Hours later, after more wine and more trash TV therapy, the three of us sprawled on the couch like exhausted starfish. My head felt foggy, but clearer than it had all day. I wasn’t magically healed. But I wasn’t drowning either.
For the first time since last night, I breathed without shaking.
And somewhere in the back of my mind—quiet, but certain—I felt the first tiny spark of something dangerously close to hope.
Like maybe, just maybe… the next chapter of my life wouldn’t be written by fear.
Or by James.
Or by loss.
Maybe it could be written by me.
And maybe one day soon… by Nike and Thor running back into my arms.