“Hi, baby,” I say as I open the biggest crate and let Molly out. Her long scruffy tail hits my thighs as she starts running and jumps on the couch. I’d never let her remain free in the apartment because while she’s a sweetheart, she can become a real nightmare when I’m not looking.

The high-pitched bark becomes louder as I make my way to the smaller crate sitting next to my suede couch. Maybelle’s small, fluffy body spins in circles, her nails clicking against the bottom of the crate. Once I open the door, she doesn’t immediately come out. She waits for me to pet her head a time of two and pull her out. With two of the biggest cataracts I have ever seen in my entire life, she’s had her fair share of running into walls and closed doors.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” I whisper above her head before pecking two kisses on her ears.

While I carefully place my little bundle of love in her tiny bed on the floor, my crazy, much larger beast jumps off the couch and lands on my back, almost making me fall forward.

“Molly!” I shout as I turn around. “You better calm down right now!”

That’s what happens when we don’t go on our run together in the morning. She needs to spend her energy almost as soon as we wake up or else she’s unstoppable for the rest of the day.

And if I need to wake up two hours earlier every day for the duration of this project, then there’s no way we’ll be able to do that.

I quickly bring the dogs out, and when I come back in, I deflate like a balloon, letting myself drop onto my couch, where Molly comes to cuddle next to me almost instantly. I let my hand roam up and down her wiry brown, black, and beige fur. I’ve had her for five years, and I’m still not sure what type of mixed-breed she is. There’s probably some Labrador and some German Shepard in there, but otherwise, I don’t know. She’s honestly pretty ugly; I love her with all my heart.

“What am I going to do, Moll?”

As if in response, she drops her muzzle on my thigh. Not that helpful, but I’ll take it. It’s not like I have anyone to call who could give me advice. There’s always my cousin Aqidah, but I don’t think she’d give me advice I’d want to follow.

With a sigh, I grab my phone and google my own name. I read the article in the Globe when it came out, but I want to go through it again and try to analyze it from Aaron’s perspective.

Goodness, I still can’t believe it’s him.