A sharp sound tears out of my throat. “No.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Daisy.”
I rush forward and fling the door open wider, cold air hitting my bare legs as I stumble outside.
“Daisy!” I shout.
Panic crashes into me.
My hands claw through my hair as I step onto the cold ground, barefoot. “Daisy!”
I turn in circles, my breath coming too fast, then too shallow. The street blurs at the corner of my eyes. My chest burns like it is collapsing inward.
“Daisy!” My voice cracks as I scream her name again.
Without thinking, I move toward the Ozark woods. Dirt and gravel bite into my feet, but I barely feel it. Tears spill down my face, unstoppable. My thoughts spiral wildly.
What if she is hurt? What if she ran? What if someone took her?
I can’t breathe.
I just keep calling her name, again and again, but just the silence answers back every time.
I’m failing at the only thing I am good at. Loving her. Taking care of her. In her short life, I failed to make her feel safe.
All I can think about is how she came into my life two years ago. How, in such a short time, she put air back into my lungs. Every time I wanted to reach for a razor blade to cut myself, she gave me a reason not to cut. Every time I came home exhausted from work, she was there, tail wagging, eyes bright, pulling me back to life. When my thoughts grew too heavy to carry and getting out of bed felt impossible, she forced me up, nudging my hand, reminding me that even if now is the worst, it doesn’t mean later can’t be better.
I replay every moment I should have done better. The nights I was too tired. The days I was distracted. The times I didn’t notice fast enough. But she never once looked at me like I was failing her. Not when my hands shook. Not when my eyes were hollow. Not when all I had to give was the bare minimum required to stay alive. To her, I was still home. Iamstill home.
She gives me life when I don’t want mine.
And now I am failing her again, because the thought of her somewhere alone and scared claws into me and doesn’t let go.
I turn, walking deeper into the Ozark, shouting her name.“Daisy.”
Thunder rolls above me. The clouds darken to a heavy gray, folding in on themselves. Rain starts to fall as I move through the trees. Cold seeps into my feet, into my skin. I rub my arms as I run, dressed in nothing but a thin T-shirt. My breath fogs in front of my face with every step.
Someone is watching me.
The feeling crawls up my spine. That sense of being followed, of not being alone, clings to me no matter how fast I move.
I gasp and slip, sliding down into the mud. My palms burn as they hit the ground. I push myself up and run again.
Footsteps pound behind me. My heart slams harder, louder, until I hear it in my ears, tangled with my breath. I can’t shout for Daisy. I can’t scream for help. I know it is useless. Completely useless.
My phone is at home. There is no one to call. All I can think about is getting back to the path, getting out of the Ozark, and getting home.
Maybe she is waiting for me.
I turn my head.
Someone is there. Close now. Following me.
It’s the same man. The same one I noticed days ago when I took Daisy for a walk.
I scream.
Cold burns through my feet as I push myself faster, crashing through branches and wet leaves. The man is chasing me. Then I hear his voice.
