What the Dog Remembered

She found the old photograph while packing—her hair dark then, falling past her shoulders in waves, his arm around her waist, both of them silhouetted against that impossible orange sunset in Santorini. Seven years ago. Before the promotions, before the distance grew like ivy in the space between them in bed.

The dog, Buster, nosed at her knee. He was theirs together, a wedding gift from her sister. Now he would go with David, along with the house, the car, the cable subscription she'd been too lazy to cancel. Everything parceled out like estate sale items.

"You're taking him?" she'd asked yesterday, surprised by how much it hurt. David had nodded, not meeting her eyes. Buster had slept at the foot of their bed since he was a puppy. He'd been there through the miscarriage, through the arguments about whether to try again, through the long months when they'd both worked late to avoid coming home to each other.

Now Buster pressed his wet nose against her palm, and she knelt to bury her face in his golden fur, breathing him in. Dog smell and laundry detergent and something ineffably familiar. He would forget her. Dogs lived in the present tense, loyal to whoever fed them, walked them, slept beside them. In six months, he might not remember her name.

The thought shouldn't have devastated her. She was losing everything anyway. But it did.

David would be here in an hour with boxes. The cable guy had already come and gone, disconnected everything but the internet. She'd kept the streaming subscriptions, a small rebellion. Something stayed.

She stood up, knees popping, and caught her reflection in the hallway mirror. Hair now streaked with silver, pulled back carelessly. Eyes that had seen too much of the same day repeated. Thirty-seven and starting over, whatever that meant.

Outside, the sky turned that particular shade of orange that only came in autumn, the light hitting the windows just so. A dog barked somewhere down the street. Buster raised his head, ears perked.

"Go on then," she whispered. "Check it out."

He trotted to the door, tail wagging, ready for something new. And she thought, maybe she was too.