Yesterday, I came home from work, exhausted but comforted by the thought of being greeted by my dog, Winnie. Every single day for the past five years, Winnie has been there by the door, tail wagging, eyes full of unconditional love. But yesterday… she wasn’t. The house felt eerily quiet, as if something had been ripped from its soul. I called out her name—once, twice—thinking maybe she was asleep or hiding. But nothing. Just silence.
I turned to my husband, confused and anxious. And without the slightest trace of emotion, he said, “I re-homed her. She was too much work.”
Just like that. No warning. No discussion. No chance for me to say goodbye to the dog who had been my best friend, my emotional support, my everything. It was like someone had reached into my chest and taken my heart out.
I was stunned. Shocked. Numb.
And then the kids came running, asking, “Where’s Winnie?”
I had no answer. I looked to him, hoping—praying—he’d take responsibility. But he just shrugged and muttered, “You’ll get over it.”
Get over it?
How do you “get over” losing a member of your family—because that’s what she was. Winnie was there when I cried. She sat beside me when I felt alone. She celebrated my highs and comforted me through the lows. And now she’s just gone, handed over to someone else like she didn’t matter.
I haven’t stopped crying since. The house doesn’t feel like home anymore. And worse, I can’t help but feel betrayed—not just by his decision, but by the sheer lack of empathy, of understanding. He knew how much she meant to me. And still, he gave her away… without asking.
I don’t know what to do next. My heart feels shattered. The kids are confused. I feel like a stranger in my own marriage.
How do you forgive someone for taking away the one thing that brought you peace? How do you trust again after something like this?
All I know is… I miss her. I miss my Winnie.