Emma
Emma studied at university and worked part-time, like most students, often taking night shifts. Her mother couldn’t help her financially, and the scholarship alone wasn’t enough to get by in the big city.
After her summer exams, she took a break and spent three weeks visiting her mum. She returned refreshed, well-rested, and loaded with homegrown vegetables and jars of jam carefully packed into her bag by her mother.
Emma stepped off the bus at the station square. After the long journey, her bag felt twice as heavy. She trudged to the bus stop and sighed as she set her burden down on a bench.
Returning to the city felt freeing. Home was nice, but she had lived alone for two years now, used to being her own boss. She missed the city’s noise, her friends. When she started working, she could finally afford her own flat, leaving the dormitory behind.
The flat was tiny, in a quiet suburb, but it was cheap. The windows faced an overgrown wasteland, with woods just beyond. At night, no lights shone outside, but mornings flooded the flat with sunlight. In winter, the wasteland’s white snow made even the nights bright.
A quiet whimper caught her attention. Emma peered under the bench and spotted a sharp brown snout. The dachshund’s big, round eyes were full of fear. Only then did she notice the leash tying the dog to the bench. She crouched down. The dachshud shivered and shrank deeper into the shadows.
“Don’t be scared. Come here,” Emma coaxed, gently tugging the leash.
Reluctantly, whining, the dog crawled out, ready to bolt back under at the slightest threat. But Emma held firm.
The dog panted heavily, tongue lolling. It was an unusually hot August, and the dachshund had hidden from the sun.
Emma guessed it was thirsty. A nearby kiosk sold drinks and snacks.
“Wait here,” she whispered, then hurried over.
“A small bottle of water, please,” Emma asked the indifferent shopkeeper. “Do you happen to have an empty tin?”
“Wouldn’t a disposable cup do?” the woman smirked.
“No, a dog can’t drink from a cup. There’s a dachshund tied to the bench. Any idea how long it’s been there?”
The woman squinted, sighed, and shook her head.
“People can be cruel. I opened up at eight and saw a man pull up in a fancy car. He tied the dog there and left. Never came back. Reckon he abandoned it. Here—it’s not clean, though.” She handed over an empty sardine tin.
Emma thanked her, paid double the usual price for the water, and returned to the bench. She rinsed the tin, filled it, and set it down.
“Drink, don’t be scared.”
The dog sniffed, then lapped noisily. When it finished, Emma refilled it.
“What do I do with you? Stray dogs might tear you apart at night. Or worse—homeless folk might…” She shuddered. “Come with me. You’ve got no choice.”
She left her number at the kiosk, just in case the owner showed up. Untied, she half-carried the reluctant dog onto the bus, paying for two. No one complained—the dog stayed quiet on her lap.
At home, it cowered in the hallway, sniffing warily. Emma made a bed from an old blanket. The dachshund settled on it, watching her with big dark eyes.
“What’s your name?” She listed names aloud. “No? How about Felix?”
The dog yipped.
“Felix it is.” Another yip. “You understand me? Why would anyone leave you?”
That night, she listened to claws clicking on laminate. Felix explored cautiously, retreating if she stirred. But within days, he greeted her eagerly at the door.
The yard was packed with cars, so they walked on the wasteland. Once away from roads, she let him off the leash, fearing he’d run—but he always came when called. She wondered how his short legs managed the tall grass.
September brought university and night shifts. Felix waited impatiently for her return. She couldn’t imagine life without him now.
One Sunday, they walked the wasteland. Felix circled her, then bolted toward the woods. She called, but the grass tangled her legs.
“Felix! Home!” Silence.
Had he found a burrow? Then—a high-pitched yelp, abruptly cut off. She ran, heart pounding.
In a clearing, teenagers crouched over something. She approached, fearless.
At her voice, they jumped up. Felix lay pinned to the ground by a sharpened stick. Blood pooled beneath him.
The tallest boy yanked the stick free. Felix whimpered, bleeding heavily. The boy stepped forward, weapon raised. His empty, cold eyes locked onto hers.
Emma turned and fled, grass snagging her. Footsteps pounded behind her. Almost home—
Something struck her back. She fell, bracing for pain—but nothing came. They’d thrown a rock, then vanished.
A silver car stopped. A man helped her up.
“Who attacked you?”
“Teens—they killed Felix. Stabbed him.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“My dog. Please, help me get him—he’ll bleed out!”
Relieved it wasn’t a person, the man hesitated. But Emma begged until he and another driver searched the woods.
They returned with a blood-soaked bundle.
“He’s alive. Get in—we’re going to the vet.”
Felix died on the way.
Emma couldn’t bring herself to remove his bed. Nights echoed with phantom clicks of claws. She paused at the door, expecting his happy whines—but silence greeted her.
Autumn rains came. Emma stopped for bread on her way home.
At the exit, she locked eyes with the tall boy—same dead stare. He bolted.
A screech of brakes. He lay crumpled on the road.
“Not my fault—he ran out!” the driver insisted.
Police arrived. One officer recognized Emma—the man who’d helped with Felix.
“He’s the one,” she said tearfully.
Two weeks later, her doorbell rang incessantly. A man stood there, holding a square bag.
“Sorry to wake you. I’m on duty—no one to look after her.” He handed it over.
Something moved inside. Emma unzipped it—a small brown dachshund peered up, trembling.
“I thought a girl would be different. Her name’s Fiona.”
“Fiona,” Emma echoed, lifting her out. The dog licked her chin. She laughed softly.
“Glad you kept this.” He nodded at Felix’s bed.
“Couldn’t part with it,” she admitted, cuddling Fiona. “Thank you. I don’t even know your name.”
“Jacob.”
Fiona was nothing like Felix—stubborn, shoe-chewing, insisting on sleeping in Emma’s bed.
On walks, Emma kept her leashed. Weekends, Jacob drove them to parks. Fiona buried her nose in leaves, darted about like a bullet, ears flapping. Her joy was infectious.
They chased each other, laughter ringing through the trees.
Loss teaches us that love doesn’t end—it simply finds new shapes.
