06/10/2026
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You pulled over like you were going to check the tires.
I knew before you opened the door.
The way your hands shook when you scratched behind my ears one last time. The way you wouldnât meet my eyes when you whispered, âBe good.â
Then the click of the seatbelt release. The shove. The door slamming like a gunshot.
And just like thatâI was nothing in your rearview mirror.
Funny thing about roads: Theyâre cold. They donât smell like home. They stretch in both directions, and neither one leads back to you.
I ran after your car. Of course I did. (You knew I would.) My paws bled. My lungs burned. I thought if I could just catch up, youâd remember:
The time I chewed your favorite sandals and you laughed instead of yelling.
The way I always curled into your knees during thunderstorms.
But you didnât stop.
Humans tell themselves stories: âI had no choice.â âTheyâll find her a better home.â
But hereâs the truthâyou chose the cowardâs way out.
You left me where the monsters are real:
Tires that donât swerve.
Men who donât care if a collar means someone loved me once.
I survived. Not for you. For meâthe me who still wags at squirrels, who licks kidsâ faces, who somehow, stupidly, wouldâve forgiven you if youâd come back that first night.
But listen close, human:
The road didnât break me. You did. And yetâ
Iâm still here.
With a new name.
A new hand to hold.
And a heart thatâs almost done waiting for you.
đ For every soul left by the roadside: May your journey lead you to softer hands.