The following week felt like moving through a fog, each step forward revealing more shadows than light.
Mrs. Hammond arrived unscheduled one evening, her face drawn with the kind of worry that lines the edges of uncertainty.
She stood at the reception, her eyes darting between the clock and the door, as if she were expecting something—or someone.
I approached with a calm I didn’t fully feel, offering the kind of smile that was meant to reassure but often failed to do much more than that.
‘Everything alright, Mrs. Hammond?’
She nodded, though the gesture was unconvincing, her hand restless on the counter.
‘Just here to check on Daisy and the pups.’
There was a pause, a hitch in her voice that spoke louder than her words.
‘Of course, come on back.’
The clinic was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigeration unit and the distant ticking of a wall clock.
Daisy was in her kennel, her eyes following us with a gentle curiosity as we approached.
The puppies were nestled against her, a tangled mass of fur and tiny limbs.
Mrs. Hammond knelt beside them, her fingers brushing over their backs with a tenderness that belied her earlier tension.
I watched her, caught between the sense of intrusion and the need to understand.
‘They seem healthy,’ I offered, more as a question than a statement.
‘Yes, yes they do,’ she replied, her voice distant, eyes fixed on the pups.
There was a moment where I considered pressing further, asking the questions that were building up inside me, but something held me back.
Perhaps it was the way Dr. Miller had dismissed my earlier concerns, or the subtle pressure from the clinic owner to maintain our reputation above all else.
It was easier, sometimes, to let the silence speak.
Still, the unease lingered, a shadow that clung to the corners of the room.
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