Mom walked up to the older man at the front desk and began asking for paperwork in a hushed tone. Amy stared straight ahead, feeling her heart pound as she waited. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Rover glance up at Dad and her, then slowly just stare straight ahead.

Maybe, she hoped, he’ll be so insulted by this that he’ll go along with it anyway. Maybe he doesn’t want to be our dog anymore.

Mom finished the paperwork and stepped away from the desk like it was a dangerous animal. The man behind the desk stood, walked out into the waiting room, and knelt down.

“Hey, Rover. Hey, good boy,” he said. “Come on over here, good boy.”

Rover walked over to the man and let himself be petted. While the man stroked him, he also took Rover’s leash in his hand. When he rose to his feet, he held on to the end of the leash.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said with a nod.

Mom thanked him and headed for the door. Dad lightly touched a hand on Amy’s shoulder, and the two turned and followed. As she glanced over her shoulder, Amy saw that Rover was staring straight at her, his eyes not cold and dead as usual but this time burning with white-hot anger.

It wasn’t until they were out of the parking lot and on the highway that Amy allowed herself a sigh of relief. It was like she’d had a thirty-pound weight tied around her neck for over a week, and now it had been removed. She leaned back in her seat and watched the scenery go by with a lazy smirk.

“Well, that’s that,” said Dad. He tried to sound upset, but she could hear the joy in his own voice. Throughout the car, the mood was a million times lighter than it had been on the drive out.

Gone. Finally gone.

In her high spirits, Mom suggested they go eat at Acorn Hill Diner, which elicited cries of “Yeah!” from both Amy and Dad. Amy had a baked potato loaded with broccoli and cheese, along with a peanut butter milkshake. Dad brought up the story about how Mom had beaten him in tennis on their first date, and even though Amy had heard it a million times before, she cackled out loud at the part where Mom told Dad, “Dude, get on my level.” She couldn’t remember when she’d last laughed like this.

As they drove home, it started to rain, and even that seemed pretty to Amy. She cracked her window and let the drops spray against her hand, ice cold. Any feeling was a good one without—

The car braked hard. Amy’s seat belt bit into her shoulder.

“Patricia, you okay?” asked Dad from the passenger seat. He touched Mom’s arm.

“Mitch, look,” she said in a husky voice.