Her boots squelched as she moved across the damp grass, pulse racing, the wind now cold against her ears. Only when she’d closed the door behind her did she finally stop. She hurried to the window, heart pounding with hope—but what she saw made her shoulders fall.
The harness was off, unstuck from the fence post. But the dog’s leg was still trapped—bent awkwardly through the fence slats. It was wriggling, struggling, trying everything. Nothing worked. Maya looked at the ruined plushie, torn open and scattered like feathers. The sky darkened further. And she felt her resolve break.
Maya stood at the window, her reflection pale against the glass. The dog was still out there—soaked, shaking, trapped. Her chest ached. All that effort, and nothing had changed. She had tried. And yet, that leg was still caught. Her cleverness hadn’t been enough. She had failed it.
Her hands clenched at her sides. She’d thought the plan was solid, even a little proud of it—until it unraveled like the toy rabbit in the dog’s mouth. The storm was worsening. And here she was, dry, useless, watching something suffer while doing nothing. It was unbearable.