I’ve spent my entire life watching people in power make decisions about who gets to survive and who doesn’t. Landlords who evict families two days before Christmas. Judges who send kids back to homes that failed them. Deans who decide you’re a “risk” worth taking or a mistake worth discarding.
This is one decisionIget to make.
One life I get to save.
Even if it costs me everything.
I found Waffles three weeks ago. Scruffy. One eye glazed over. Half his tail gone, and a case of trust issues that rival mine. But he wagged when I crouched down in front of his kennel. Honest-to-goodness wagged. The dog hadn’t given up hope yet.
He reminded me of Buster, the dog we had when I was eight. Buster was a mutt, too, all ears and attitude, who used to sleep on the floor against my bedroom door. When my mom’s ex started getting loud and mean, Buster would growl low in his throat—not threatening, just... present. Warning anyone who’d listen:You’ll have to go through me first.
We had to give Buster away when the landlord found out about him. “No pets” was non-negotiable, even when my mom begged and offered extra security deposit money we didn’t have.
I watched from the car window as the family drove away with him. He kept looking back at me through the rear windshield, confused. He couldn’t understand why his people were letting strangers take him.
My mom cried for three days straight after that.
My mom, who worked three jobs and never complained. Who got up at four a.m. to flip pancakes for truckers and came home smelling like grease but still helped me with my homework. My mom who never cried. Not when the lights got shut off. Not when Jerry threw a beer bottle at the wall two inches from her head. Not even when the eviction notice showed up.
But she cried for Buster.
Because we both knew we’d failed him. We were supposed to protect him, and instead, we handed him to strangers and drove away.
I never forgot that feeling. The shame of it. The helplessness. I swore I'd never feel it again.
The world wasn’t kind to girls growing up the way I did. The rules were different. People expected us to fail—to slip up, give in, take what we could get, and stop aiming higher. But I didn’t. I followed the rules. I made the honor roll, washed dishes, and never dated anyone seriously after that one spectacular disasterin undergrad that left me gutted and equipped with lessons I didn’t want to learn.
I earned my place here. Earned everything. And still, I can’t stop thinking about this dog.
He was going to die with no one to miss him.
I can’t live knowing I let it happen.
I inch closer to the shelter window. The alley behind it smells like rotting kibble and old water damage. Everything feels damp, even the air. My sneakers squeak on the concrete, and I flinch, even though there’s no one around. No one should be around. I picked the hour carefully.
But this city has eyes. And secrets. And the kind of streetlight that flickers just enough to make me feel like God is watching, too.
The window is old. Yellowed. Already cracked. I stare at it for a beat. Breaking it feels irreversible.
I pull the brick from my tote bag anyway.
And yes, I brought a brick in a vegan leather bag. I’m the world’s most emotionally frazzled superhero.
I lift it. Exhale.
“This is so dumb,” I mutter, glancing over my shoulder. “Truly Olympic-level dumbassery.”
I hurl it anyway.
It punches a neat, pathetic hole in the glass. One singular, sad thud.
I stare at it.
“Cool,” I mutter, my voice pitched high and hysterical. “Not even a satisfying smash. Love that.”
I stomp my foot and then scan the alley again, heart pounding. Nothing. Just shadows, trash bins, and a smell I will never get out of my sweatshirt.
Still, I move toward the dumpster, bracing my foot on the side to climb it.
