There was the bag of premium dog food I had brought—open and half-used. Next to it was a loaf of white bread and a jar of peanut butter. That was it.
And then I saw the pill organizer.
My dad’s blood pressure medication slot was empty for the last three days. But Barnaby’s joint supplements? The expensive bottle I left on the counter?
“He had his medicine,” Dad mumbled, seeing where I was looking. “He walked good today. No limping.”
I fell to my knees. The realization hit me harder than the cold.
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