PART 2 — MILO DISAPPEARED

A week later, Olivia’s manager asked her to travel for two days.

The boarding facility Milo normally stayed at was full. Her parents had a fenced garden, and Milo enjoyed chasing squirrels there.

Olivia considered asking a neighbour instead.

Then her mother sent a message.

“We can watch him, if you’re finished punishing everyone.”

It was not an apology, but Olivia was exhausted. She convinced herself it was an attempt at peace.

She packed Milo’s food, medication, leash and his favourite stuffed duck. When she dropped him off, her father scratched his ears and said, “See? This is better.”

Olivia kissed Milo’s head and left, though an uneasy feeling followed her.

During the trip, her parents sent no photographs. When Olivia asked whether Milo had eaten, her mother replied with one word.

“Fine.”

Olivia returned early Saturday morning and drove directly to her parents’ house.

She noticed the silence before reaching the door.

Milo always barked when he heard her car. His tail usually struck the hallway table as he rushed to greet her.

This time, there was nothing.

Her mother opened the door with her arms crossed.

“Where is Milo?” Olivia asked.

Her mother looked away.

“Marissa found him another home.”

Olivia could not understand the sentence.

“What do you mean?”

“Your sister knew someone who needed him more,” her mother replied. “After the way you behaved, we thought it might teach you some perspective.”

At that moment, the ruined party no longer mattered.

Olivia stepped into the kitchen. Milo’s food was gone, but his stuffed duck remained trapped beneath a chair.

She picked it up and felt something inside her become cold and focused.

She asked whether Marissa had permission, where Milo had been taken and whether money had changed hands.

Her mother avoided every question.

Olivia found her father outside trimming the hedges.

“Did you know?” she asked.

He refused to meet her eyes.

“Your sister said it was better for everyone.”

In their family, “everyone” had always meant the person demanding the most.

Olivia returned home without calling Marissa.

She placed Milo’s adoption contract, registration papers and microchip information across the kitchen table. Every document listed Olivia as his legal owner.

By midnight, the papers no longer looked like memories.

They looked like evidence.

The next morning, she contacted the police.

Officer Hayes arrived at her parents’ house and calmly asked one question.

“Who legally owns the dog?”

Olivia handed him the documents.

When Marissa arrived, she initially acted confident.

“I didn’t sell him,” she said. “I rehomed him.”

“Did Olivia give you permission?” the officer asked.

Marissa avoided answering.

Then a message appeared on her phone.

Olivia could read part of the preview:

“If the owner calls, I told her…”

Officer Hayes asked for the buyer’s information.

Eventually, Marissa admitted she had accepted money from a woman she found through a community page.

Before she could invent another excuse, Olivia’s phone rang.

A woman named Karen explained that she had bought a dog from Marissa that morning. She had been told the previous owner was moving away and no longer wanted him.

But the dog would not eat.

He had hidden beneath her dining table and cried whenever she touched his leash.

“His tag says Milo,” Karen said. “He keeps running to the window and looking outside.”

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