I felt no thrill about any of it. Only tired, and grateful I’d left the office early on a damp Tuesday.

Chapter 10 — Healing

Six months on, we moved into a small, sunlit house with a big fenced yard on the quiet side of the county — our own, on a mortgage, with a deposit we had been sitting on for four years without ever quite saying so out loud.

A good child therapist helped Lia’s nightmares fade, week by week. Max settled in like she’d always been there, claiming a new bed in the corner of Lia’s room and thumping her tail every time my daughter walked in.

Chapter 11 — Barnaby

One bright Saturday, the three of us went back to that shelter — this time to give, not to take. We walked the rows until Lia stopped at the end of the hall, at the run reserved for the senior dogs.

Inside was a scruffy black-and-white terrier mix with a notch out of one ear and a frosted muzzle. He limped to the fence and pressed his nose through the wire with a soft, hopeful whine.

Lia knelt and put her hand through, and the old dog leaned his whole head into her palm.