The silence that followed felt heavier than the traffic.
The man tried again.
“Bo.”
Nothing.
Not even a step.
Just that same pressure against my leg.
The man’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Enough to reveal the irritation underneath the performance.
“You don’t understand,” he said, looking at me now instead of the dog. “My father is gone. I’m his next of kin.”
The words sounded rehearsed.
Legal.
Practical.
As if he were discussing furniture.
Not a living creature.
I looked down at Bo.
His ribs were visible beneath the dusty fur.
His paws were cracked.
The fabric around his muzzle had rubbed a raw patch into his skin.
“Then why was he left here?” I asked.
The question landed harder than I expected.
The man blinked.
Just once.
Then looked away.
“I stopped for gas,” he said. “He must’ve gotten out.”
Janine laughed bitterly through the phone.
The sound was so sudden it startled me.
“That’s a lie.”
The man heard her voice.
His eyes narrowed instantly.
“Janine?”
