“Really,” I confirm, setting the box and bag on the coffee table. “I know how much you like, er, dressing the animals up. There’s cake. Presents. A pink boa and tiara for you. And juice for the tea party.” I hold up a large bottle of apple juice like it’s fine wine.
Avelina looks at me. “Viktor, you didn’t have to?—”
I cut her a look. “I did.” Then, in a low voice, I add, “No child should feel forgotten on her birthday.”
Sofia throws her arms around my legs before I can react. I stiffen for a heartbeat, then lower one large hand to her back, patting her carefully.
“Thank you,” she sniffles, muffled against my black combat pants.
“You are welcome, little bird,” I murmur.
As Sofia rushes off to pour pretend tea for Queenie and Albert, Avelina bites her lip, overwhelmed. She swipes away a tear from behind her glasses before speaking quietly to me. “Geliy may have forgotten. But you showed up—with pink tiaras, feather boas, and everything else—proving what a big heart you have…and how lucky we are to have you in our lives.”
At the end of the week, I fly Dr. Rivers back to Vegas for a final checkup on Queenie.
After his examination, he packs his things and tucks his stethoscope away. And before leaving, he hands me a small card with a photo of a sunlit room full of cats and dogs.
“This is one of the shelters I was talking about before,” he says with a smile. Dr. Rivers refused to take the 100K I offered originally for Queenie’s surgery, instead asking me to make a donation to the animal shelters he set up as part of a charitable foundation. “This is our branch in L.A. If you ever find yourself out there, stop in. We take in the animals no one else wants. And we never euthanize them, no matter how long they are with us.”
Sofia perks up instantly. “More cats?”
Dr. Rivers laughs. “A lot more. All looking for good homes.”
I tuck the card into my shirt pocket and nod.
He gives Queenie one final pat on the head before leaving.
“Can we go?” Sofia asks, looking at me, then Avelina, with wide, hopeful eyes. “Can we visit?”
I glance at Avelina, who raises an eyebrow but nods. “Maybe once Viktor is completely better. He still needs to rest, but we can see after that.”
And my heart lifts as I watch Sofia smile widely in response.
Later, when Avelina is nestled beside me asleep, I lie awake. My fingers drift over her arm softly. A new habit of mine.
I can’t seem to shut my brain off, though.
With my other hand, I browse the web on my phone. I could pull up the video of Avelina skating to soothe me to sleep. But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I browse the animal shelter’s website.Paw Prints Sanctuary.
Every picture is full of creatures with wide eyes and cautious expressions. Some wear bandanas or hats. Strays, surrendered seniors, animals with scars, dogs who flinch from the camera, cats who don’t quite trust the warmth of a lap.
I recognize a lot of that. Each image reminds me of the small boy I used to be. The kind that was lost in the world. The kind that was wary and always kept his distance. The kind that learned to survive without expecting kindness. The kind that society excluded in so many ways because I couldn’t think or feel the way they did.
There’s one photo that stops me cold. A ginger tabby called Red. She’s curled on a plaid blanket beside a one-eyed German Shepherd called Gerald. The caption reads:Bonded pair. Found under an overpass. Won’t be separated.
I stare at it for a long time.
Something in my chest tightens. The way it does when Avelina looks at me in that special way of hers. Or when Sofia calls me her best friend.
And I don’t push that feeling away.
Instead, I click the button that saysMake a Donation.
I enter a very large amount.
And I set it to repeat.
