Two weeks earlier I had lost my job at a dental insurance office after twenty-seven years. The company called it restructuring. I called it being quietly replaced by someone younger who could work for less.
Now apparently my independence was also being restructured.
I tried to smile for Melissa’s sake, but inside I felt something heavy settle into my chest. The house I had lived in for nearly three decades suddenly felt like it belonged to someone whose story was already ending.
The next morning the silence in that same house felt unbearable. I drove around town aimlessly until I saw the county animal shelter and pulled into the parking lot without really thinking about why.
At the front kennels families were choosing puppies and laughing at clumsy wagging tails. Volunteers were explaining training tips and handing out adoption paperwork. Life felt bright and hopeful there.
