Dog Paddling Through Grief

The pool hadn't been drained since Mark died three months ago. The water had turned a murky green, thick with algae and dead leaves—a stagnant mirror of everything Maya felt inside. She stood at the edge, bare feet cold on the concrete, while Barnaby, their aging golden retriever, whined softly at her knee.

"I know, buddy," she whispered, fingers buried in his ruff. "I miss him too."

The real estate agent had suggested draining it. Potential buyers found the abandoned pool unsettling—a reminder that this house once held laughter, dinner parties, a life that moved forward. But Maya couldn't bring herself to call someone. Every time she picked up the phone, she remembered Mark's voice the day they'd signed the mortgage papers: *This is it, Maya. Our forever home.*

Now the forever had an expiration date.

Barnaby suddenl lurched forward, nearly pulling her off balance. He'd never been a swimming dog, hated water actually, but something drew him to the pool's edge. Maya watched, paralyzed, as he waded in—not a tentative dip but a determined plunge into the waist-deep murk.

"Barnaby!" she cried, scrambling after him.

The dog was swimming—actually swimming, awkward strokes through the opaque green water toward the far end where Mark's old lounge chair still sat, umbrella collapsed like a fallen soldier. Barnaby reached the shallow end and stood there, water dripping from his golden fur, staring expectantly at her.

Maya waded in, fully clothed. The cold water shocked her senses, snapped something loose in her chest. She swam to Barnaby, wrapping her arms around his wet, shaking body. They stayed there, treading water together, while the late afternoon sun painted shadows across the pool's surface.

"We can't stay here," she said aloud, the first time she'd admitted it. Barnaby licked her cheek, tail thumping against the water's surface.

The next morning, she called the drainage service. Two days later, the pool was empty—a blank canvas. Maya stood at the edge again, Barnaby pressed against her leg, and finally saw it: not a monument to what she'd lost, but space for whatever came next.

The water was gone. But somehow, she was still swimming.