THEY SERVED YOU DOG FOOD AT YOUR OWN 70TH BIRTHDAY—SO YOU CANCELED THE CARDS AND EXPOSED THE SECRET YOUR SON AND HIS GIRLFRIEND WERE HIDING

Suddenly, the dog food does not feel like humiliation.

It feels like rehearsal.

You open a new folder on your desktop.

You name it Luis.

Then you begin saving everything.

The next morning, you wake before dawn even though you barely slept.

The house is filthy. Plates stacked in the sink. Empty bottles in the living room. Rice dried onto the table. Cake frosting smeared on the counter. And there, by the door, Rocky’s old dish still sits on the floor with the dog food Luis poured for you.

You pick it up carefully.

You wash it.

You dry it.

Then you place it on the shelf beside Rocky’s old collar.

You will not let that dish become their symbol.

It belonged to a dog who loved you better than your own son did last night.

At 8:00 a.m., Luis and Karla come downstairs.