Chapter 53 Dottie
Hannah
When I was certain he was gone, truly gone, the house settled back into its careful quiet, I tied my hair up, adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, and scooped Momo into my arms.
“Come on,” I murmured into his fur. “Let’s go where we’re needed.”
The drive to the shelter steadied me in a way I hadn’t expected. The familiar streets, the rhythm of passing traffic, the small weight of Momo breathing against my chest, it all stitched me back together in tiny, functional ways. By the time we pulled up, my shoulders had dropped an inch from my ears.
The bell over the shelter door chimed as I stepped inside.
“Morning!” I called.
A chorus of greetings answered me back, all warm, casual, threaded with affection. I greeted everyone by name, exchanging smiles and brief touches on shoulders as Momo wriggled to be put down and immediately began exploring like he owned the place.
“Oh, before I forget,” I said, clapping my hands lightly to gather attention. “Sienna won’t be in today. She lost a loved one and needs the day off.”
A hush fell, then a wave of sympathetic murmurs.
“That’s awful,” someone said softly.
“Tell her we’re thinking of her,” another added.
“I will,” I promised, meaning it.
Work took over quickly, as it always did. Feeding schedules. Cleaning enclosures. Checking charts. Answering questions. Redirecting Momo every time he decided the cat room was an open invitation.
“No, sir,” I told him gently, scooping him up yet again. “You do not belong in there.”
He licked my chin in response, utterly unapologetic.
Hours passed in that satisfying blur of usefulness. I lost track of time until sometime in the early afternoon when I reached for a jar of cat snacks on a high shelf, misjudged the angle, and sent it tumbling.
“Oh, fuck…no,” I groaned as the lid popped open and treats scattered everywhere.
I crouched, hurriedly gathering them into my palms.
The door chimed.
“Just a second, please!” I called out, still on my knees. “I’ll be right with you.”
I stood up…
….and stopped.
The man by the door was tall, broad-shouldered, with a scruff of beard that looked like it belonged there rather than something he’d forgotten to shave. He wore glasses that softened his features, made him look thoughtful. His smile was easy, unforced.
And he was holding the hand of a little girl with neat pigtails and bright, curious eyes.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied, feeling heat creep into my cheeks before I could stop it.
“This is Natalie,” he said, squeezing the girl’s hand. “And we’re here because someone has decided she wants a rabbit.”
Natalie nodded solemnly. “A spotted one.”
I smiled, genuinely now. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
I gestured them forward, leading them through the shelter. I gave brief, practiced introductions: this is where the cats nap all day, these are the dogs who think they’re lap-sized, and Natalie listened with wide-eyed fascination.
We reached the rabbit section, and I knelt, opening the enclosure doors just enough to let the animals poke curious noses through.
“Okay,” I said, handing Natalie a small cup. “These are carrots. You can feed them slowly and see who comes to you.”
She squealed, dropping into a squat immediately. “Hi,” she whispered to the rabbits like they were secrets.
I laughed softly, then realized the man was watching me.
Not the rabbits.
Me.
I cleared my throat. “Uh…feel free to look around,” I said, unnecessarily.
He chuckled. “Nah, I’m good. Sorry. I’m Nate.”
“Hannah.”
We shook hands, his grip warm and steady.
“Nate and Natalie,” he said, nodding toward his daughter. “Yes, I know. Not confusing at all.”
I laughed despite myself. “I was just about to ask.”
He grinned. “Her mom wasn’t very creative.”
I wanted to ask about the mom but kept quiet as it wasn’t my business. We talked easily as Natalie deliberated with great seriousness. Nate told me they’d promised her a rabbit after she’d gotten through a rough few months, new school, new routines.
“She needed something gentle,” he said quietly. “Something that would be hers.”
I nodded, understanding that kind of need all too well.
Natalie suddenly gasped. “That one.”
I followed her finger. “That’s Dottie,” I said. “She’s very sweet.”
Natalie nodded decisively. “I like Dottie.”
I lifted the rabbit carefully, guiding Natalie’s hands. “You can hold her like this.”
They went to the counter. Paperwork followed, very routine, methodical. Natalie cooed softly to Dottie, utterly entranced.
When everything was done, I handed over the cage and supplies.
“Thank you,” Nate said sincerely. “You’re very good at this.”
“It helps when I love it,” I replied.
Natalie skipped ahead toward the door, calling, “Daddy, hurry!”
Nate lingered.
“Can I…” He hesitated, then cleared his throat with a smile. “Can I get your number?”
I smiled too, apologetic. “I’m married.”
His eyes flicked to my bare finger.
“I take my ring off at work,” I added quickly. “Animals and all.”
He nodded, disappointment flickering briefly before he masked it with grace. “Well,” he said, smiling again, “your husband is a very lucky man.”
My smile faltered just a fraction at the thought of Timothy.
“Yes,” I said anyway. “He is.”
We exchanged goodbyes, and Nate left.
I watched him go, my reflection faint in the glass.
Lucky, I thought.
How very wrong he was.