Sharing is caring!
Yesterday, Duke took the bite meant for my daughter.
Today, the internet is calling him a hero—and my landlord is giving me seventy-two hours to get rid of him.
I wake up on the living room floor with a stiff neck and the smell of antiseptic in my nose.
Lily is curled up like a comma against Duke’s bandaged side, her fingers tangled in his fur.
My phone is buzzing nonstop on the coffee table.
For a second, I think it’s the vet calling with bad news.
It’s not the vet.
It’s notifications.
Voir la suite dans la page suivante:
