Maya didn’t believe in games. She believed in love—real, messy, honest love. So when Tom asked for a “pause” to “work on himself,” she let him go with grace, though his silence hurt like a slap.
Time became her healer. Weeks after he disappeared, she adopted Rufus, a golden retriever with gentle eyes at the shelter. She didn’t know how much she needed him—until he chose her, pressing his head against her leg like he’d found home.
A month later, Tom reappeared at her door with flowers and excuses. “I’m ready to resume us,” he said—like she’d been waiting for him.
But Rufus walked in first, rattling with a leash in his mouth.
“You got a dog?” Tom snapped.
“You ghosted me,” Maya replied, calm but firm. “I moved on.”
Tom’s ego cracked open. “It was a test. You failed!”
Maya felt the chill of betrayal slip away, replaced by a warming certainty.
“No, Tom,” she said, with clarity in her voice. “You wanted control—so I found unconditional love instead.”
She closed the door on the boy who vanished and stayed with the dog who stayed.
