The day after I found out I was pregnant, my husband Shane’s entire family descended on our house. They brought groceries, tonics, and a whole lot of unsolicited advice on how to "keep the baby safe." In the middle of the chaos, Shane’s nephew, Tyler, took a shine to my dog, Bear. He was hugging him tight, not letting go. He asked me, "Auntie, how old is the puppy brother?" I smiled and told him, "Well, if you want to count it like that, he’s actually your puppy grandpa. Bear is fifteen years old." My mother-in-law, Joyce, made a face. "Don't talk nonsense. How can you call a dog a brother or grandpa? You’re gonna give birth to a puppy if you keep that up." After lunch, I was exhausted. I made myself a cup of milk tea, went into the bedroom, and lay down. They chatted in the living room for a while longer, then left. But after they were gone, the silence felt wrong. Bear was a clingy old boy. He hated when people left. Usually, he’d be scratching at the door or whining. But today? Silence. He hadn't come to nuzzle me since the guests walked out. I got up and searched the apartment. No Bear. A bad feeling hit me in the gut. I rushed to the window and looked down. There, in the driveway, was little Tyler, climbing into the backseat of their SUV, holding Bear in his arms. I lost it. I threw the window open and screamed, "Put my dog down!" The whole family looked up. Joyce immediately started waving her hands, signaling her eldest son—my brother-in-law, Travis—to drive. "Go! Go!" she mouthed. Travis actually started the engine. I didn't think. I just reacted. I grabbed my half-full cup of milk tea and hurled it out the window. It was a perfect shot. The cup exploded against the front windshield, splashing sticky brown liquid everywhere. Travis slammed on the brakes; he couldn't see a thing. Shane, seeing the mess, yelled up at me from the sidewalk, "Are you crazy?!" "I'm coming down!" I screamed. I sprinted down the stairs. Joyce tried to block me, babbling excuses, but I pushed past her and started banging on the car window. "Open the door! Give me back my dog!" Joyce grabbed my arm. "The kid likes the dog! Just let him raise it for a bit! You raised it for years, that’s enough. You’re pregnant now, you shouldn't be around animals anyway!" "Bear is fifteen!" I shouted, shaking. "He’s geriatric! He is not a toy for a child!" Inside the car, Travis looked at his mom, annoyed by the sticky windshield. He cracked the window an inch. "Ma, just get a rag and clean this up. Calm her down." That patronizing tone snapped something inside me. I pulled out my phone and smashed it against the glass. Thud! "Put the damn dog down!" I roared at Travis. "That is my dog! Your mom had no right to give him away, and you have no right to take him!" I kept smashing the phone against the glass until spiderwebs formed. Shane rushed over and grabbed my arm, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise. He hissed through his teeth, "Have you lost your mind? You’re embarrassing me in front of my family." I was shaking with rage. "I’m crazy? You’re crazy! You’re my husband, and you let them steal my dog behind my back?" "I Googled it!" Shane yelled back. "Do you know what toxoplasmosis is? Dog poop carries parasites! It affects the baby! I’m doing this for our child!" "Shut up! Your mouth is filthier than dog shit right now!" Travis, worried about his precious car window, finally unlocked the doors. I yanked the back door open. Tyler was clutching Bear, wailing at the top of his lungs. "I want the puppy! Auntie, give him to me! Please!" "No!" I reached for Bear, but Tyler turned his back, shielding the dog. He looked at his parents, sobbing. "I want the doggy!" My sister-in-law, Brenda, was the only one with half a brain. She sighed. "Tyler, give the dog back to Auntie. Mommy will buy you a new puppy tomorrow." "I don't want a new one! I want this one!" Tyler screamed. Joyce clutched her chest, acting heartbroken. "Look at you, making my grandson cry. You’re a grown woman fighting with a child!" I ignored her and held out my hand to the kid. "Give him back. I won't ask again." Tyler bit his lip, sobbing uncontrollably. Bear, sweet old Bear, didn't understand he was being kidnapped. He licked the tears off the boy's face. Then, Tyler snapped. Instead of handing Bear to me, he lifted the dog up and smashed him onto the asphalt. "Fine! Take him!" the kid screamed. My heart stopped. I watched Bear hit the pavement. He let out a high-pitched yelp of pain. He was fifteen. His bones were brittle. He struggled to stand, whimpering, holding one paw up. He was limping badly. The red mist descended. I didn't think about consequences. I grabbed Tyler by the collar and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. Slap! Silence. Absolute silence. Shane stared at me, mouth agape. Joyce raised her hand to slap me back, but she froze mid-air. I knew why she stopped. Not because of me, but because of the incubator in my belly. I scooped up Bear. He was shaking, whining in a low, pained rhythm. Everyone swarmed Tyler. Shane was cooing at him, promising toys, promising McDonald's. No one looked at the dog. I walked back upstairs, tears blurring my vision. Bear was twitching in my arms. I grabbed my car keys. I needed to get him to the vet immediately. Shane followed me in, slamming the door. "You go downstairs right now and apologize to Tyler!" I stared at him coldly, keys in hand. "You broke Mom’s heart, and you humiliated me! How are we supposed to have family dinners after this?" he ranted. "We don't," I said. "I’m taking Bear to the vet, and then I’m going to my parents' house. Tomorrow, I’m filing for divorce. I don’t need you to raise this kid. It’ll have my last name." Shane looked like I’d slapped him. I packed a bag one-handed, holding Bear close, and walked to the door. Shane grabbed my purse and ripped it away. "Put it down. Go to your room." I looked at him and felt nothing but pure, unadulterated disgust. He really thought he was some alpha male, didn't he? It’s funny how love dies. It doesn't always fade. Sometimes, it just turns into nausea in a split second. "Keep the bag," I said. I opened the door, clutching my dog. Shane lost it. "You’re divorcing me over a dog?" I turned back. "When I got 100% on a test in third grade, my mom bought me Bear. He was there when I graduated high school. He was there through college. He was there when I married you. He’s been with me for fifteen years. I’ve known you for four. How dare you give him away?" "You're being dramatic!" "Just now, when I was alone against five people, did you stand by me? No. I’m done arguing. Let’s just divorce. I wanted a man who could protect his wife and child. You aren't him." His face twitched. "Fine. Divorce. But you pay me back every cent I spent on the wedding." "I Venmo'd you while you were screaming downstairs. Check your phone." He checked. His face twisted further. "You really act like this over a mutt?" Suddenly, Shane lunged. He snatched Bear from my arms. And just like his nephew, he threw Bear onto the floor. Hard. Bear hit the tiles with a sickening thud. He tried to scramble up on his little legs, slipping on the smooth floor, wailing in agony. "Get away from him!" I shoved Shane, trying to get to my dog. Shane grabbed my arm—hard. "I’m sick of your princess attitude! You want a divorce? Fine! Let’s make it permanent!" He dragged me into the kitchen and grabbed the chef’s knife from the block. My blood ran cold. "Are you going to kill me?" "I don't hit women," he sneered. He dragged me toward Bear. Panic, primal and overwhelming, flooded my system. "Bear! Run!" I screamed. Bear always listened to me. But he was old, and he’d been smashed into the ground twice in ten minutes. He tried. He scrambled toward the door, dragging his back legs, whimpering. Shane let go of me to catch him. He took two steps and brought the knife down. Blood sprayed. Bear convulsed and collapsed. Shane didn't stop. He hacked at the dog. Again. And again. "This is for your twisted priorities!" Chop. "This is for hitting a child!" Chop. "This is for threatening divorce!" Chop. I watched my dog being butchered. He wasn't dead yet. He was suffering. "Shane, I’m going to kill you!" I grabbed a heavy wooden dining chair and smashed it over Shane’s head. His scalp split open. Blood poured down his face, into his eyes, making him look like a demon. But he didn't stop. He was going to chop Bear into pieces. I remembered my self-defense class. Go for the groin. I gathered every ounce of strength I had and kicked him squarely between the legs. Shane froze. His eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor, clutching himself, making a sound like a deflating balloon. Just then, Joyce walked in. She saw her son on the floor, the blood, the knife. She screamed and shoved me aside. "My family! You’ve ruined my family!" she wailed, cradling Shane’s bleeding head. I ignored her. I crawled to Bear. He wasn't making noise anymore. He was... gone. Just a pile of fur and ruin. Shane, gasping for air, grabbed the dog’s severed head in one hand and the bloody knife in the other. He panted, looking at me. "Welcome to the real world, princess. Nobody’s gonna coddle you here." He tossed Bear’s head at my feet. My legs gave out. I collapsed to my knees. Bear. My Bear. Since I was eight years old. Waiting at the school gate. Waiting at the bus stop. Licking tears off my face when I had my first heartbreak. Now, he was in pieces. I picked up his head. It felt so light. I remembered lifting him when he was a puppy, telling him, "You're getting so heavy, buddy." I packed what was left of him into a plastic trash bag. I left. Shane didn't stop me—he couldn't stand up. I drove to my parents' house. I had arrived at my wedding in a limo with Bear on my lap. I came home with him in a bag. We buried him in the backyard, along with his favorite squeaky toys. My parents cried with me. They told me the backyard was going to be a garden soon. Bear would like that. I touched my stomach and told my parents, "Tomorrow, I’m getting an abortion." I had planned to keep the baby, raise it alone. But not anymore. That man’s DNA didn't deserve to exist. My parents agreed immediately. "A man who uses a knife in an argument isn't a father. He's a monster." I cried all night.
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