Greg’s face turned pale, his jaw tightening as he stared past me. Confused, I turned around—and there she was.
Maggie.
Not only was she alive, but she was thriving. The frail, gray-faced dog he had dismissed as a lost cause stood beside me, her tail wagging, her once-weary eyes now full of warmth and life. She looked up at me before trotting forward, her old legs moving with surprising strength.
Greg scoffed, shaking his head. “This is impossible. That dog was supposed to be gone months ago.”
I smiled, kneeling to scratch Maggie behind the ears. “She was supposed to have a month, Greg. But love works miracles.”
His expression darkened. “You really threw everything away for a dog?”
I stood up, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “I didn’t throw anything away. I saved a life. And in return, Maggie saved mine.”
Greg let out a bitter laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
Maggie let out a low growl—not aggressive, just a quiet warning. She had never done that before. It was as if, after all this time, she knew what I hadn’t been able to see for years: Greg had never been my home.
I took a deep breath. “You know what, Greg? I used to think I lost everything when you walked out that door. But looking at you now, I realize I didn’t lose a thing. I gained a best friend, and I gained peace.”
His lips curled into a sneer, but I wasn’t interested in whatever insult he had loaded on his tongue. I turned and walked away, Maggie padding alongside me, her step lighter than ever.
That night, as we curled up on the couch together, I ran my fingers through her soft fur, feeling the steady rhythm of her breath. She had outlived every expectation, just like I had outlived the idea that Greg was my only path to happiness.
And when Maggie finally did cross the rainbow bridge—two years later, not one month—she left this world knowing she had been deeply loved.
Because in the end, love isn’t measured in time. It’s measured in how it changes us, how it saves us.
And Maggie had saved me in ways I never knew I needed.