The house is quiet when I get up and go downstairs the next morning. I look for some carrots in the fridge but there aren’t any so I head out back to feed Rainbow without any treats. I give him some grain, then bring him outside to graze for the day. I walk him around the yard first, talking quietly about our memories. Every so often, he sniffs my pocket to see if I have any treats. His nose is velvety soft, and when he breathes on me, it feels warm and comforting. I stop and hold the sides of his head in my hands so we can look at each other. His big brown eyes blink at me. His beautiful eyelashes have grayed a lot more since we adopted him, just like his muzzle. I press my forehead to his and breathe in.

He’s quiet. Knowing.

“You are the best pony in the world,” I tell him.

He jerks his head a little as if to agree.

I attach his lead to a longer rope, and he lowers his head to the dewy wet grass to graze. I reach down and braid his mane, humming to him as I do. I sing “Over the Rainbow” to him, then hug him again and bury my face in his warm coat. A big, heavy sob bubbles up out of me, then another. He lifts his head, confused. I hug him harder and sob into his neck.

“It’s not fair,” I say, crying harder.

He lifts one hoof and scratches it in the grass, oblivious that his life is about to change. Will another little girl get him for her birthday, like I did? Will she be kind to him? What if some jerks like the Grayson twins get him? What if they tease him and try to make him run and do tricks when he’s too old and lazy for that? What if whoever adopts him doesn’t give him treats, or braid his mane? Or read to him? Or tell him they love him?

My heart starts to beat faster, and I begin to feel the same panic I felt yesterday. Only this time, Micah isn’t here to help me through it and I start to have trouble breathing. What if something bad happens to Rainbow? What if he isn’t fed properly? What if he ends up all alone and neglected? I start to choke and gasp.

Then I feel pressure on my back.

“Rachel, calm down,” my dad says.

I don’t turn to look at him.

“Take a deep breath, honey. Slow down.”

I try to slow my breathing, but I can’t stop the uncontrollable sobs that roll out of me.

“Slowwwww breaths,” my dad says again, more calmly. “In, then out.”

I do as he says, and eventually the frantic feeling in my chest settles away.

My dad keeps rubbing my back in slow circles.