Lena and I had been together for almost three years. Our relationship was filled with love, trust, and shared dreams. We had already met each other’s families, and even they had become close. Our parents often spent weekends together, organizing trips to the countryside. It felt like we were already one big family.
We planned to get married in the fall—just a few more months to save money, finalize some work projects, and then we’d start our life together. But everything changed that spring, on Lena’s birthday, when her parents gave her a gift she had wanted since childhood—a dog.
She named him Rocky.
From that moment on, everything turned upside down. Lena changed. It was as if I had been erased from her world, as if the future we had envisioned no longer mattered. Every conversation revolved around Rocky—his food, his training, his vaccinations, his habits. Nothing else existed for her anymore.
Our walks were no longer about us. We were always a trio—Lena, Rocky, and me. But while I walked beside her, she was only focused on him. Watching him carefully so he wouldn’t pick up something dirty, making sure he didn’t get sick, checking that he wasn’t scared of bigger dogs. I was there, but I felt invisible.
At first, I tried to embrace it. I wanted to love Rocky, to share in her joy. I helped with his training, even played with him. But as time went on, a feeling I couldn’t shake began to grow inside me—resentment. I wasn’t the priority anymore. And Rocky… he could feel it.
At first, his hostility was almost amusing. A tiny puppy growling at me, trying to chew on my shoelaces. Lena laughed, stroking his head, saying:
– Oh, look at him! He’s jealous! My little protector!
But as Rocky grew, so did the problem. By the time he was six months old, he was a strong, muscular dog, no longer playing. I couldn’t even enter Lena’s apartment without her permission. Rocky would stand between us, baring his teeth if I tried to move past him.
Lena? She found it adorable.
– He’s just protecting me, – she’d say with a smile.
One evening, after another round of aggressive growling, I finally asked her:
– How do you see our future, Lena? How do you imagine our life together when your dog clearly hates me? Maybe we should let him stay with your parents? They have a big yard, he’d be happy there.
Lena’s expression hardened.
– No.
That was all she said.
And in that moment, I realized there was no way out.
– Then you have to choose, Lena. – My voice was quiet, but firm. – Me or the dog.
She looked at me for a long time, her blue eyes unreadable. Finally, she took a breath and said, almost too calmly:
– I don’t think there’s going to be a wedding. Rocky is staying. But you… I’m not so sure about.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
We haven’t spoken in over a week. Our parents are trying to mend things, suggesting compromises, but there is none.
And as painful as it is to admit, Lena made her choice.
She chose the dog.
