I hear them through the walls—a dog whimpering softly in the kennels, a cat’s cage rattling as it paces. They don’t know their world is about to collapse too.
“I’ll meet with each of you individually today to discuss options,” Dr. Martinez says, and her voice snaps me back tothe present. “For now, let’s try to maintain normalcy for the animals.”
The meeting dissolves. People move around me in what feels like slow motion, their faces blurred like I’m viewing them from underwater. Sara squeezes my arm before following Jen out, asking questions I can’t focus enough to process. I stay rooted in place, staring at the coffee maker as it continues dripping into an already-full pot, overflow sizzling against the hot plate.
“Sophie.” Dr. Martinez’s voice is gentle. “Can you come to my office for a minute?”
I follow her down the hallway, past exam rooms where scared pets come to heal, past the surgery suite with its gleaming equipment. Her office is small and cluttered in the best way—stacks of veterinary journals, framed diplomas hanging slightly crooked, photos of successful cases pinned everywhere. A coffee mug on her desk reads “The Best Kind of Doctor Treats Patients With Paws.” I bought it for her last Christmas.
She closes the door and sinks into her chair, suddenly looking a decade older. “I stayed up all night running numbers,” she says, gesturing at the spreadsheets covering her desk. “I don’t have anywhere near enough capital to purchase the building outright. And other commercial spaces in Bellrose…”
“Are just as expensive,” I finish for her.
She nods, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I watch her composure crack. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “It’s not just about us losing our jobs, Sophie. It’s all the animals we won’t be able to help. The shelter’s already at capacity. The nearest affordable vet is forty minutes away. Some people just won’t make that drive.”
Pain lances through me. I think of Mia, how no one would have adopted her without this clinic’s intervention. How many more dogs like her will have nowhere to turn?
“What about legal options?” I blurt out. “Like, tenant rights? Or zoning regulations that might protect us?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I sound like I’m grasping at straws, and from Dr. Martinez’s expression, she knows it too.
She reaches across the desk and takes my hand. Her palm feels warm against my cold fingers. “Oh, mija,” she says softly, using the Spanish endearment she only brings out for emotional moments. “You’re welcome to look into it. But I’ve already consulted two attorney friends.”
I nod, even though I’m probably making promises I can’t keep. But I can’t bear the thought of losing this place. This is where I belong. Where I know exactly who I am and what I’m supposed to do. I’ll research legal precedents all night if I have to. I’ll scout alternative locations. Whatever it takes.
Then his face flashes through my mind uninvited. Dark hair. Blue-gray eyes. Expensive suit. Law degree framed on his wall.
Absolutely not. No way. I’d let the clinic close before I’d ask Zayn Blackwell for help.
…Right?
My laptop glows in my dark bedroom, illuminating the disaster I’ve created. I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, surrounded by chaos—printouts of commercial rental listings, photos of potential properties, and legal documents I can barely comprehend. My head throbs from my temples all the way down to where my neck meets my shoulders. Four empty coffee mugs crowd my nightstand because I’ve been mainlining caffeine after getting maybe two hours of sleep last night. Mia is curled at myfeet, anchoring me to reality while I scroll through yet another California tenant rights website that’s absolutely useless.
“Landlords must provide sixty days’ notice for rent increases,” I mutter, reading aloud. “But they gave us ninety, so that doesn’t help.” I click another link. More legal jargon. More words that blur together until they stop making any sense.
My eyes burn from staring at screens too long. I’ve been at this for hours since getting home from my shift. I spent the entire day worrying—while administering vaccines, trimming nails, assisting with an emergency surgery on a cat who’d swallowed a hair tie. I kept my hands steady for the animals, but my mind wouldn’t stop spinning, searching for solutions.
Every commercial property I’ve found is either too small, too far from town, or priced so high it makes the current rent look reasonable. Every legal website seems like it was designed to confuse regular people who just want straight answers. Is there any loophole we can exploit? Any obscure regulation that might save us?
I grab my notepad and scrawl “eminent domain???” then immediately cross it out. That’s for government seizure of land for highways and public projects, not saving veterinary clinics. I crumple the page and lob it at my trash can. It misses, joining the growing pile of failed ideas littering my floor.
Mia’s head pops up, ears perked a split second before my door swings open. Sara breezes in without knocking, smelling like ocean air and the greasy fries from that food truck down by the harbor.
“Hey, you,” she says, kicking off her shoes. They thud heavily against my floor. “Have you eaten actual food today, or are you surviving on pure caffeine?”
I don’t look up from my screen. “I had a granola bar.”
“That was yesterday.” She flops onto my bed, sending papers scattering. Mia huffs indignantly but doesn’t move from her spot. “What are you even doing?”
“Trying to find a way to save the clinic.” My voice comes out thin and exhausted. “Did you know commercial rent in Bellrose is nearly as expensive as San Francisco? It’s insane.”
Sara props herself up on her elbows, studying me. Her blonde ponytail has mostly come undone, and her cheeks are flushed from the cold night air. She looks well-rested, which makes me irrationally jealous.
“You look like death,” she says bluntly. “And this…” she gestures at the papers scattered across every surface, “isn’t accomplishing anything.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.” I click on another useless link. More incomprehensible legal terminology that makes my headache worse.
“Have you considered asking Zayn for help?”
My fingers freeze on the keyboard. I go completely still. The room suddenly feels colder, and my pulse pounds loud in my ears. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth hurt.
