“Traitor or Saved Loyalty”
—I’ve made up my mind, Mum. Enough!— Jake stared stubbornly out the window, lips pressed tight.
—You… you’re a traitor, Jake!— His mother’s voice trembled, raw with desperation and blame.
—A traitor? Me?!— The boy choked on the word, spun around, and stormed out of the room.
He slammed the door, threw himself onto his bed. Anger bubbled inside him, but then came the memories—warm, sweet with summer and happiness.
When Jake turned eight, his dad gave him his dream bike—a bright blue stunt bike, gleaming and perfect. He was over the moon, racing with his mates all day, forgetting everything. Even his dad’s upcoming birthday. His grandad had to remind him.
—Jake, lad, got your dad’s present sorted yet?— he’d asked quietly as they sat together on the porch.
—No, Grandad… I haven’t even thought—
—No matter. We’ll sort it together. I’ve got an idea.
For two weeks, they worked on a wooden key rack—carving, sanding, fixing hooks. Jake put his whole heart into it, even letting his beloved bike gather dust.
On his dad’s birthday, he’d been oddly giddy. He’d hugged Jake, thanked him for the gift, and then—laughing—brought in a wicker basket from the garden. Inside was a puppy. A stocky, glossy-black Staffy.
—Meet Max. My gift to myself. Childhood dream.
—Dave, have you lost your mind?!— His mum had thrown up her hands. —A dog?!
—Not just any dog—look at him! Like a little bear!— His dad’s grin, wide and boyish, melted them all.
Max was loved instantly. He grew strong, gentle, a shadow by his dad’s side. Then, one night, he saved him.
Two men cornered Jake’s dad in the park. Knives, threats. Then Max burst from the bushes—jet-black, huge. Just his presence sent the attackers scrambling.
—If they’d known he wouldn’t hurt a fly…— his dad would later say, chuckling.
But the worst came soon after. Cancer. Leukaemia. In months, his dad withered like a candle in the wind. Jake was only twelve. And Max became his shadow.
Now, fifteen, Jake faced a new problem: Graham. A decent bloke, respectful. But when he moved in properly, it turned out he was deathly allergic to dogs.
Mum tried smoothing things over, then just said it outright: —We have to rehome Max.— Graham’s family now, she said. The dog… Jake listened, numb. How could she ask him to betray someone who’d never betrayed him?
He asked friends—no one wanted an aging Staffy. Grandad wasn’t an option, too frail to care for a dog.
—I won’t put him in a shelter!— Jake snapped during their final talk.
—But Graham’s family now— Mum sobbed. —Is a dog more important than people?
—More important than Graham? Yeah.— Jake exhaled. —Because he’s my family. And Max is Dad’s family. And mine. And yours, Mum. We’ll go to Grandad’s. We won’t be in the way.
—And me? I’m supposed to split myself in two? I work, Jake—
He pointed silently at the key rack he’d made with Grandad. Max’s lead hung there.
—I’ve decided.
—Traitor,— she whispered, voice breaking.
Later, Grandad called her himself.
—Liz, love, let him stay here. He can do school remote. Honestly, it’s easier with him around. And Max too. We’ll manage.
Graham surprised them all. —Let him go, Liz. He’s nearly grown. The dog won’t suffer. Why force it?
Jake arrived at Grandad’s with Max and a duffle bag. The dog flopped by the telly, sighing happily. Things fell into place.
Then one day, Grandad rang—voice thin, shaky.
—Jake, lad… something’s not right. Come quick—
Jake bolted from class, raced home. The neighbour had called an ambulance but hovered anxiously by the bed.
—Thanks, Mrs. Wilkins. I’ve got it now.
The paramedics came fast. A shot, instructions for home care. A young medic, Lucy, lingered in the doorway, eyeing Max.
—Don’t worry, he’s soft,— Jake said quickly.
—Wasn’t worried.— She grinned, stepped inside.
The doctor asked if they had help for the IVs.
—No…— Jake admitted.
—Lucy, can you take it?—
—Course. Unless this beast eats me.— She winked at Max. The dog gave her a slow blink, almost a nod.
And so it began.
Lucy came daily. Jake started walking her out. Then walking with her. Then lingering in the park. Their talks grew longer, quieter, deeper…
Then came little Alfie.
Max greeted Lucy home from the hospital like family. He swapped his spot by the telly for a mat by the crib. Watched over Alfie, grumbling when he stirred. Slept close. Always there.
Alfie’s first steps were clutching Max’s collar.
Max turned thirteen. He wheezed now but still padded after Alfie. Old, wise, tired—but never less devoted.
One day, Lucy ran to the shop—milk, nappies. Alfie napped, Grandad home.
—Don’t fret,— Grandad said. —We’ll manage.
But his heart gave out. Pain, darkness, helplessness.
Max nudged his hand. Then Alfie’s crib. Then the door. Pawed at it till Mrs. Wilkins saw—knew at once.
Jake returned to the smell of antiseptic and the flat’s stale air.
—Sorry— Lucy cried. —If Max hadn’t—
—It’s okay. We’re okay.
Max watched from the floor. His gaze was heavy, deep, full of love.
He never betrayed them.
Never.
