Gabby hesitated, torn, but when she peered into the car and saw it packed to the roof with luggage, blankets, and now the toy hamper, her protest softened. “Alright,” she said, voice tight. Josh lifted Juniper into the front seat. Juno whimpered. Then the car pulled away—and both dogs cried.
Gabby watched the car disappear around the corner, her arms hanging uselessly at her sides. A strange weight pressed on her chest. Juno had never been without Juniper. Not for an hour. Not for a minute. And now he stood frozen, ears perked, gaze fixed on the empty gate.
She knelt beside him, brushing his fur, but he didn’t budge. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “He’ll be back soon.” But Juno wasn’t listening. He pawed at the door, whining with an edge of panic. Gabby offered him his favorite plushie—ignored. Treats—ignored. Even the bacon from this morning—sniffed, but untouched.
She moved him to the quiet playpen and sat beside him. Time dragged like wet wool. Every shuffle of footsteps outside made Juno twitch. He was restless, circling the fence, eyes always darting to the front. Gabby kept petting him, but her own nerves were beginning to fray. Something didn’t feel right.
At the two-hour mark, Gabby rose and went to the front desk. She pulled Josh’s file from the drawer and dialed the number listed. The call rang—then cut. “The number you have dialed is not reachable.” Her stomach turned. She dialed again. Same result. The backup number was switched off.
She paced. Checked the street. Tried again. Still unreachable. She returned to Juno, who was now curled in the corner but alert, ears still high, body trembling. Gabby sat next to him, her hand resting on his side. “Maybe he’s stuck in traffic,” she whispered, but the words tasted like dust.
Juno kept darting between the playpen gate and the front door, his claws skittering against the floor. He whimpered like he was trying to speak, trying to ask why his brother hadn’t come back yet. Every time a car passed outside, his ears perked. Every time it didn’t stop, he let out a low, devastated cry. He was unraveling—confused, anxious as to where Juniper had gone.
The sky outside had darkened. The shelter lights flickered on. Gabby checked her phone again—9:03 p.m. Her throat felt tight. No call. No message. No sign of Josh. Juno had stopped whining. He just lay there, wide-eyed, unmoving. Still waiting. Gabby crouched down and whispered, “I don’t think he’s coming.”
When Gabby reached out to pet him, he flinched—not away from her, but toward the door. His whole body trembled as he pressed his face to the seam beneath it, breathing hard, like he was trying to catch Juniper’s scent in the draft. And then, just once, he howled. A long, mournful sound that made Gabby freeze in place. It wasn’t noise. It was grief. And it shattered her
She didn’t know what to do. Her heart pounded with dread, panic clouding her logic. Josh had seemed so normal. So kind. How could he do this?Juno had stopped whining out of exhaustion, but he still wasn’t asleep. He was listening. Waiting. Gabby suddenly felt like crying right beside him.