Chapter 3The Price of Buddy

I looked at Mark, and I felt sick.

Does he think he’s some alpha male in a movie?

It’s funny how love dies.

It doesn’t take years.

It takes one second of clarity.

"Keep the purse," I said.

I opened the door, holding Buddy.

"You’re divorcing me over a dog?" Mark screamed.

His face turned purple.

"When I got 100% on my spelling test in third grade, my mom got me this dog," I said, my voice steady.

"He was there through high school. Through college. He’s been with me for fifteen years."

"I’ve known you for four."

"You’re being dramatic!"

"I was standing alone against five people, and you sided with them."

"I want a man who protects his wife. You’re not him."

His jaw clenched.

"Fine. Divorce. But you’re paying me back for the wedding."

"Check the joint account. I already transferred my share out."

He checked his phone.

His face twisted.

"You really are doing this over a mutt."

Suddenly, Mark lunged.

He ripped Buddy out of my arms.

And, just like his nephew, he smashed him onto the floor.

Buddy screamed.

He tried to crawl away, his little legs scrambling on the hardwood.

But he couldn't stand.

"Get away from him!"

I shoved Mark, desperate to reach my dog.

Mark grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"I’m done with your princess attitude!"

"You want a divorce? Let’s make it worth it!"

He dragged me into the kitchen.

He grabbed a chef’s knife from the block.

"Are you going to kill me?" I gasped.

"I don't hit women," he sneered.

He dragged me toward Buddy.

Fear, cold and sharp, pierced my chest.

"Buddy! Run!" I screamed.

Buddy always listened.

But he was old.

And he was broken.

He dragged his body toward the door, whining.

Mark let go of me to close the distance.

He caught up to the dog in two steps.

And brought the knife down.

Blood sprayed across the floor.

Buddy’s body seized.