Twelve years in the same office. One sleazy betrayal… Misty doesn’t cry or crumble — she listens, she records, and she makes a plan. In a world that expects women to stay quiet, Misty’s about to remind everyone just how loud silence can be, and how brutal payback looks in heels.

Have you ever given everything to a place, only to realize one day it was never going to give anything back to you?

That was me.

My name is Misty.

I’m 37 years old, a single mom of two.

And for the last 12 years, I’ve been the Office Manager at a mid-sized logistics company with a burnt-coffee-smelling breakroom and a CEO who thinks “team building” means a pizza voucher.

I run payroll, schedules, contracts, reconciliations, and vendor agreements — all the invisible threads that keep everything from falling apart.

Or I did.

Until Rick decided that I was disposable.

Rick, my boss, is the kind of man who calls women “hon” or “kiddo” and considers himself “progressive” because he follows about three women on LinkedIn.

He’s twice divorced and always smiling when you know he’s about to mess you over.

He gave me half his workload and called it collaboration.

Naturally, I did it without complaining because I have bills, two kids with growing feet, and aging parents who need me more every month.

So, I stayed late. I showed up.

I took notes in a navy notebook, and I bit my tongue.

Right up until the day I heard him call me “dead weight.”

It started in early spring, the kind of month where winter hadn’t fully let go yet. At first, it was just the little things that started to annoy me and raise warning flags in my mind.

Rick, who had never once commented on formatting in the 12 years I worked for him, suddenly started sending emails with subject lines like “Font Consistency Issues” and “Re: Margins.”

“I just want things to look more… polished,” he said one morning, standing awkwardly by my desk with his coffee mug in hand.

“You’ve been slipping a little, Misty.

Could just be stress, huh, hon?”

“Are you saying that there’s an issue with my work, Rick?” I asked. “Just be honest.”

“No, no, not exactly,” he said quickly, waving his hand like he was shooing away the idea. “Just… clean it up, alright?”

Then came the meetings — or lack of them.

I started noticing calendar events disappearing from my planner.

And suddenly, project updates that used to go through me were now routed through Hannah, our new assistant. She was 26, fresh out of college, and seemed surgically attached to her lip gloss and her phone.

And Rick?

Rick had become her shadow.

“You’re doing great,” I overheard him telling her in the breakroom one day. “You’ve got a natural touch, Hannah.

People respond to that, hon.”

She giggled loudly, as if trying to attract attention to them.

“I just do what you said I should… smile, stay eager, and keep eye contact when speaking.

Honestly, I didn’t expect to be noticed so quickly.”

“You’re not just being noticed, Hannah,” he replied. “You’re moving up.”

I walked away before they saw me. But something lodged itself in my chest that afternoon and didn’t leave.

Then came the write-ups.

One for being two minutes late after I had to drop my son off at school.

Another for a budget report Rick claimed was incomplete — even though I had a timestamped submission and proof that he’d approved it.

Another incident was a project I’d managed end to end, including supplier negotiation and scheduling, which was announced in a team meeting as “Hannah’s coordination effort.”

I remember looking around the conference room and catching Rick’s eye. He didn’t flinch at all.

He just raised his cup of coffee and nodded to the plate of donuts, smiling like nothing was wrong.

At home, I spoke to my mother about everything.

“I think he’s trying to phase me out.”

“He accepts my work but gives credit to this young woman who… I don’t know, Mom. I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s not experienced at all.

I don’t get how she’s moving on up, taking all my credit as she goes.”

“After everything you’ve done for that man, Misty?” my mother asked, frowning as she poured some tea.

“That’s… not right.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I can feel it… something isn’t right.”

And I was right. I just didn’t know how bad it was going to get.

It was a Friday — month-end, always chaotic.

Rick had asked me to stay late to finalize the reconciliation report.

“You’re the only one who really knows how to pull it together, Misty,” he’d said with a thin smile that looked more forced than anything.

I stayed, even though my son had a stomach bug and my daughter had a spelling test the next morning.

By the time I finished, the office was nearly dark and silent, the kind of quiet that makes every click of a stapler echo like a gunshot. I printed the report and tucked it into Rick’s out-tray, then made my way down the hall to the breakroom to get some leftover pastries from the afternoon meeting.

As I passed Rick’s office, I heard voices.

His door was cracked slightly, the desk lamp casting long shadows across the floor.

I wasn’t trying to listen. I was just walking by.

Then I heard my name.

“Relax, babe,” Rick said.

His voice was low, smooth in that smug way he got after two glasses of pinot at a company dinner.

“Misty will be gone by next week. I already started the paperwork. Seriously.

Once she signs off, the position is yours.”

I stopped.

My feet didn’t get the memo to keep moving. My heart pounded in my ears.

“Are you sure she won’t put up a fight, Rick?” Hannah’s voice chimed in — light, teasing, like she was joking but not really.

“She’s loyal, sure.

She’s predictable, too. Once she sees the amount she’s going to walk away with, she’ll sign.”

I backed away from the door, one slow step at a time.

My hands were shaking, not with fear, not yet.

It was just the first edge of betrayal.

In the breakroom, I stood in front of the vending machine and stared at nothing. Then I pulled out my phone, opened the voice recorder, and walked back the way I came.

Not to confront, no. Just to capture.

Just to protect myself.

And more importantly, I was done being loyal.

Rick called me into his office just after 9 a.m.

the next Monday. I barely had time to hang up my coat before his assistant — not Hannah, she was conveniently “out running an errand” — told me that he needed to see me.

“Really, Rachel?” I asked.

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing, Misty,” she said, looking shifty. “But he seemed really down… like sad.”

I knew better than to believe her.

I knew what was coming.

I had known since Friday, making my weekend a blur of tea and popcorn while my kids spoke about everything and nothing.

But I still walked in, still sat down, and still played the part of the loyal employee who didn’t know she was being thrown out with the recycling.

Rick smiled at me across the desk, like we were about to talk about the new coffee order or a minor scheduling change.

His hands were folded neatly in front of him, resting on a manila folder.

“Misty, hon,” he said, his voice dipping into the fake empathy tone he reserved for condolence cards and budget cuts. “This isn’t easy… but we’ve decided to let you go.”

He didn’t look sad. He didn’t even look guilty.

Just… relieved.

I said absolutely nothing.

I didn’t frown. I didn’t ask questions.

I just let the silence stretch between us, long enough for him to fidget with the edge of the folder.

“If you sign the termination paperwork today, I can approve a severance, Misty. I can do $3,500.

I’d like us to part on good terms, of course,” he added, still holding onto that oily smile.

“No drama.”

No drama? Right… from a man who was replacing me with the assistant he was probably sleeping with.

“Of course, Rick,” I said, nodding once.

I picked up the pen he offered me and signed everything without hesitation. My hands didn’t even shake.

I’d been over this moment in my head a dozen times since I’d heard him call me predictable.

When I stood, I noticed his eyes flick briefly toward the hallway.

Probably checking to make sure Hannah hadn’t walked in too soon…

Probably checking that their secret still felt… secret.

I walked back to my desk, packed my things slowly — my mug with the little chip in the handle, the cardigan I always left on the back of the chair, the drawing my son made of me with a red cape and lightning bolts shooting from my hands.

I didn’t take anything unnecessary. Just what was mine.

Our receptionist, Karina, looked up when I passed her desk.

“Are you okay, Misty?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“I’m good,” I said with a smile.

“But you might want to update your resume.”

Her eyebrows lifted, but I didn’t stop again.

I smiled, waved to no one in particular, and walked out the front door like it was just another Monday morning.

But what Rick didn’t know — what neither of them knew — was that I had no intention of fading away quietly.

I didn’t go home.

Instead, I took the elevator up to the sixth floor, where Human Resources lived in a quieter corner of the building, surrounded by frosted glass and vague motivational posters about growth and integrity.

Lorraine, the HR director, was someone I’d worked with for years. She had always struck me as fair, even if she kept a tight poker face.

When I knocked on her office door, she motioned for me to come in.

“Got a minute?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said, already closing her laptop.

“What’s going on?”

I stepped inside and gently closed the door behind me.

“I’m here to report a misconduct,” I said. “Discrimination. Retaliation.

All of that.

And, yes. I have proof.”

Lorraine sat up straighter.

“Okay,” she said cautiously.

“What kind of proof?”

I pulled my phone from my bag and slid it across the desk.

“I recorded a conversation between Rick and Hannah on Friday evening. It was after I overheard them planning to replace me — I didn’t catch that part but what I did get is still… revealing.”

“What exactly did he say?” Lorraine asked, blinking slowly.

“He promised her my desk.

Said that she’d get a better chair than mine, one with a fluffy cushion.

He told her he’d push for a corner office in a few months. And then he said, and I quote, ‘My couch is always free if you need somewhere to rest during the day.’”

Lorraine’s expression hardened.

“And she laughed!” I added. “Like it was a private joke they’d made before.

I’ve emailed the recording to you already.”

She hesitated but picked up my phone and pressed play.

I sat down, crossed my legs, and waited while she listened. When the recording ended, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“I’ll need to escalate this,” she said quietly.

“I understand, Lorraine.

You do whatever you need to.”

“And what do you want, Misty?”

I didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Reinstatement and compensation. I have two kids and aging parents who need me.

And I don’t want to work under Rick ever again.”

“You’ll hear from me soon,” she said, nodding.

I stood, thanked her, and left without a single glance back.

Then I went home, made dinner for my kids, and acted like it was any other Monday.

Because for them, it needed to be.

Three days later, I was in the kitchen packing lunches before school, trying not to think about Rick or the recording or what might be happening behind the scenes. I sliced apples, laid out crackers, and stuck notes in each lunchbox.

“You’ve got this. I love you!”

I was sealing the thermos lids when my phone buzzed.

Rick.

My heart gave a hard thump, but my hands didn’t tremble.

I wiped them on a dish towel, then answered.

“Misty,” he said, not even bothering with a hello.

“What the hell did you do?!”

“Rick?

What are you talking about?”

“You went to HR?! Are you serious, Misty?

You think you’re clever? You think you can ruin me and get away with it?!

I’ll make sure that no one hires you ever again.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

I could picture him in his office, red in the face, pacing behind that too-big desk.

“Rick, you need to stop. This call is being recorded.”

The silence that followed was so sharp it almost whistled through the line.

“And if I ever receive another threat from you — professionally, legally, or otherwise — I’ll take further action. And… you really don’t want to find out what that looks like.

I have a family to protect, Rick.

Please, understand that.”

He didn’t respond; he just hung up.

I put the phone down and finished packing Emma’s lunch like nothing had happened.

Later that afternoon, Lorraine called me.

“Misty,” she said. “I just wanted to give you an update.

Rick’s employment has been terminated, effective immediately.”

I sat down at the kitchen table, one hand still resting on a dish towel.

“Hannah has also been released. The recording, combined with your report, made things very clear.

And she confessed, too.

She didn’t want this to stain her record.”

I didn’t say anything right away. My throat was tight, my eyes warm. It wasn’t from sadness but from relief.

“We’d like to offer you your position back,” Lorraine continued.

“Actually, more than that.

We’d like to promote you to Senior Operations Coordinator.

With a salary increase, of course. And a more flexible schedule when you need it,” she added.

“Flexible?”

“Yes,” she said, and I imagined her nodding.

“For school pickups, doctor appointments, award days… We want to work around what you need. Because honestly, we need you here, Misty.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and exhaled deeply.

“There’s just one thing,” she added.

“We’d like to keep this internal.”

“Of course, you would,” I said.

“But that’s up to you, Misty,” she said.

“We’re not asking for silence. We’re asking for a chance to rebuild the trust that was broken.”

I let the quiet hang between us before answering.

I didn’t care about protecting a pig like Rick… I didn’t even care about Hannah.

“I’m not doing this to protect anyone,” I said. “I’m doing it because of my kids, and I already have a life that asks too much of me.

I don’t need more chaos.”

“Understood, Misty.”

I hung up, still holding the edge of the dish towel in my hand.

That night, after dinner and bath time, I was folding laundry when Emma wandered in.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“You smiled during dinner,” my daughter said.

“Is that so strange?” I asked, looking up.

“No, not strange.

It’s just that… I know something has been… wrong lately. It was nice to see you smile.”

I smiled again and pulled my daughter into my arms.

“I’m sorry, my darling,” I said softly into her hair.

“Work was just a bit stressful. But it’s all going to be better now.

I promise.”

The next week, I walked back into the office, not as the woman they’d fired, but as the woman who knew her worth and had the receipts to prove it.

Hannah’s desk was empty.

Rick’s nameplate was gone.

“Welcome back, Misty,” Lorraine said, meeting me at the elevator with a small basket of goodies and a takeaway tea.

I didn’t need any of it, but I took it anyway.

At my new office — with better lighting, better coffee, and my own water filter — I opened my inbox, took a deep breath, and got to work.

Because life doesn’t stop. And neither do I.

I thought I had everything under control — a newborn, a new chapter, and a loyal dog by my side. But when Nala started barking every time I walked into the nursery, I had no idea it was her way of trying to save us.

They say motherhood changes you, and I used to roll my eyes when people said that.

I thought, yeah sure, but so does a new haircut.

Then I had Milo — and everything I ever thought I knew about life got rewritten in a matter of days.

Six months ago, right after Milo was born, his father, Tyler, stood over my hospital bed, looked down at me with the coldest eyes, and said, “I’m not ready for this. I never was.” Just like that, he was gone.

He didn’t even sign the birth certificate!

At the time, I was too exhausted to process it. The physical pain, the emotional shock, and the overwhelming weight of caring for a newborn on my own hit me like a freight train.

But I’m not the type to wallow.

I had my job — a fully remote marketing director role — and, more importantly, I had just inherited my grandmother’s estate.

The house was paid off, there was enough money to give Milo a good life, and I wasn’t about to let Tyler’s cowardice crush us.

To keep my sanity, I hired a housekeeper-nanny named Miss Pam. She came highly recommended by an agency I trusted and was everything I needed: quiet, dependable, and great with Milo. She started when he was barely a month old and quickly became a steady part of our daily life.

Everything seemed to have finally settled into place.

The only strange thing was Nala.

Nala is my German Shepherd, and I’ve had her since college.

She’s usually calm and gentle, protective but never aggressive. But about two weeks ago, she started acting… off.

Every time I carried Milo into the nursery, Nala would lose her mind!

She’d start barking, pacing, and lunging at the nursery door! At first, I thought it was jealousy of the newborn, that maybe she felt left out.

But it didn’t feel like jealousy — not from Nala.

Her instincts told her something was wrong.

I even tried letting her sniff around the nursery, but it didn’t help.

One night I was on a video call with my friend Erin, holding the phone in one hand and Milo in the other while Nala scratched madly at the nursery door again.

“Maybe she’s just being territorial,” I said, rocking Milo gently as he yawned.

Erin squinted through the screen. “It’s probably nothing serious. But it wouldn’t hurt to check.

Listen, I still have the old baby monitor from when Caleb was little.

Take it and put it in Milo’s room, just in case. Then you’ll know for sure.”

That stuck with me.

Erin wasn’t the type to be paranoid.

So I took her up on it.

That night, I mounted the camera on a shelf in the nursery. It had a live feed straight to my phone.

I told myself it was just for peace of mind, nothing more.

Around 9 p.m., I carried Milo into the nursery again, and right on cue, Nala lost it!

She barked, growled, and even pawed at the doorknob like she was trying to turn it. I felt a twist in my stomach.

“OH FOR GOD’S SAKE, Nala, what is it now?!” I groaned.

She wouldn’t stop. She whined as if she were in pain.

But eventually, when I turned off the light and left the room, she quieted down to soft whimpers.

I climbed into bed with the baby monitor switched on and propped against my pillow, the screen showing a faint infrared image of Milo fast asleep in his crib.

Miss Pam had done her final nightly check and was off in her quarters above the garage. Everything was supposed to be normal.

Ten minutes passed.

Then 20. Thirty.

Even Nala settled on the floor near my side of the bed.

I let my eyes drift closed.

But just as I was slipping into sleep, Nala launched upright, her ears pinned and her growl so guttural I barely recognized her.

Then came the barking — feral, urgent, and relentless!

My hand flew to the monitor! At the first sound, a cold spike of instinct went through me, sharper than any conscious thought.

It sounded like Nala was lunging at the door, barking like she was trying to tear it off its hinges! There was a frantic edge in her barking — the kind animals only make when they’re warning you about something they can’t fight.

She scratched the door so hard her paws thudded like hammers!

Milo was still in his crib.

But Miss Pam had returned. She stood over him, calmly but oddly stiff.

She didn’t check his blanket or touch his forehead like usual. She just stood there, watching him.

Each step she took sounded deliberate, as if she were following instructions whispered from somewhere I couldn’t hear.

Then she moved to the door.

And opened it.

Nala’s scratching had stopped, so I guessed she’d gone off somewhere. Then, I watched as Miss Pam blocked her from entering the room while shielding the man who stepped inside!

I froze. My breath caught in my throat!

All I could see was a silhouette.

It was tall, broad-shouldered, and walked directly toward the crib.

My baby!

I jumped out of bed so fast I knocked the nightstand over. My hands trembled as I dialed 911.

I didn’t wait for the operator to finish her sentence. I softly but urgently responded, “There’s a man in my baby’s room!

My nanny let him in!”

I bolted down the hallway.

Nala was now right beside me as if she came to fetch me, snarling like she was ready to kill.

I almost tripped over a chair, before crashing through the nursery door and skidding to a stop! I later realized that the man who entered must’ve have kept Nala at bay using the chair.

The jolt of the scene hit me harder than the doorframe. Miss Pam was holding Milo in her arms.

And standing beside her — stuffing bottles, clothes, and a pacifier into a backpack — was Tyler.

My ex-husband!

“WHAT IS GOING ON?!” I screamed.

He didn’t flinch.

Not even a flicker of shame. Just looked up and said, “Monica, I can explain.”

“Don’t you dare.” I stepped forward, my voice shaking.

“The police are on their way.”

Miss Pam actually had the audacity to glance at him for reassurance — as if he were the one who could tell her what was right.

Tyler turned, dropped the bag, and bolted. The panic in his face snapped into something feral, pure survival instinct.

But he didn’t make it past the hallway.

Nala lunged, teeth sinking into his thigh, dragging him down hard.

The sound was wet and sudden, a crack of violence that echoed off the walls.

He howled and kicked, but she held on, tearing through the fabric of his jeans and into his skin.

By the time he was flat on the floor, sirens were already screaming down the street, growing louder with every heartbeat.

Miss Pam dropped Milo — not literally, but practically threw him into my arms — and tried to make a run for it too. She, too, didn’t get far. The officers arrived just as she reached the foyer.

I stood there holding Milo, my heart hammering so hard I could barely hear anything.

The blur of red and blue lights flashed through the window blinds.

The next few minutes moved like a movie playing in fast-forward: officers bursting in, shouting commands, dragging Tyler to his feet while another cuffed Miss Pam near the door.

Milo whimpered softly against my chest, and I kissed his head, whispering over and over, “You’re okay. Mommy’s here.

You’re safe now.”

The whole thing felt unreal.

A young officer, maybe in his 20s, walked over to me gently and asked if I needed medical attention.

“No, I’m fine,” I said quickly. “But I want to press charges.

On both of them.”

That night I didn’t sleep at all.

Even after giving statements, watching them both get hauled away, and seeing Tyler spit blood onto the pavement thanks to Nala’s bite, I just sat in the kitchen in shock. Milo finally drifted off in my arms.

Nala wouldn’t leave my side, and honestly, I didn’t want her to. She had known and tried to warn me, but I hadn’t listened.

Erin came over the next morning as soon as she could.

“Oh my God, Monica,” she breathed, setting down a box of pastries and gripping my shoulders.

“You were almost kidnapped.

Milo was almost… I mean, what the hell?!”

“I keep playing it over and over,” I said. “And the worst part is, he wasn’t even doing it to be a father.”

“What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

“The detective called me early this morning. They questioned Miss Pam.

She broke down and admitted everything.”

Erin sat down slowly, her eyes wide.

“Turns out Tyler’s broke.

Flat broke. No job, no savings. His car was repossessed last month, and he’s been staying with a buddy from college.

He knew about the inheritance.

I guess he had been watching the house, maybe even before Milo was born. He saw Miss Pam coming and going and probably figured out her schedule.

Then, he followed her to the grocery store one day. Struck up a conversation and played the concerned ex.”

Erin frowned.

“He conned her?”

“Oh, he went full soap opera,” I said bitterly.

“Told her he regretted leaving, that he just wanted a second chance to be in Milo’s life. Said he couldn’t come around officially because of custody complications, but begged her to let him visit. Claimed he just wanted to see his son, to hold him, until that day.”

“And she believed him?” Erin asked, stunned.

“She did,” I said, shaking my head.

“At first.

But when he started giving her cash — 100s at a time — she stopped asking questions. He told her he just wanted to bond with the baby so that when he got shared custody, Milo would feel safe around him.

Said he didn’t want to scare him.”

Erin crossed her arms. “So it was a long con.”

I nodded.

“He was setting the stage.

Making sure Milo wouldn’t cry or fuss when he picked him up. He planned to take him — not to raise him, but to use him as leverage or a hostage, rather. To get the money.”

“Wait,” Erin said, blinking.

“Like, ransom?!”

“Yep.” I stood up, needing to move, pacing across the kitchen.

“I talked to my lawyer. Apparently, if he had established paternity and gotten joint custody, he could’ve tried to go after a portion of the funds under the guise of supporting Milo.”

“That’s disgusting,” Erin whispered.

I leaned against the counter, rubbing my eyes.

The tile felt cool against my back, but it did nothing to steady the tremor in my hands. “It is.

And if Nala hadn’t reacted when she did, I never would’ve seen it coming.

I was sleeping while he was standing over my son’s crib. He could’ve taken him. Just… walked out.”

Erin looked down at Nala, who sat by the back door, ears twitching.

She hadn’t relaxed once since the police left, still alert, still watching the shadows like they owed her answers.

“You saved her,” Erin murmured, reaching down to scratch behind her ears.

“You saved both of them.”

“Yeah,” I said, my throat thick. My voice barely rose above a whisper, swallowed by the weight of what almost happened.

“She really did.”

Later that week, I sat in the living room with Detective Harris, going over the case files. Milo slept in his bassinet next to me.

Nala lay at my feet like a furry sentry.

“We’re recommending full charges,” Harris said.

“Attempted kidnapping, conspiracy, breaking and entering, and child endangerment for both Tyler and Pam.”

“She knew what she was doing,” I said flatly. “She tried to act like she was tricked, but she kept taking the money. She opened my child’s door and let a man inside in the middle of the night.”

He nodded.

“You’re doing the right thing, Monica.”

I knew I was.

But that didn’t stop the ache in my chest.

A few days later, Tyler’s lawyer sent a formal request asking to speak with me — he “wanted to apologize.” I didn’t even dignify it with a response. He could keep his apologies.

I had already heard everything I needed.

But I did keep one thing.

The shredded piece of fabric from his jeans, still tangled in Nala’s teeth that night. I wrapped it in a plastic bag and tucked it into the back of my closet.

A weird trophy, maybe.

Or a reminder. Either way, I wasn’t throwing it out.

That weekend, Erin came back with takeout and a bottle of wine. The smell of fried rice and sweet sauce filled the kitchen, a small comfort after days that felt stretched thin.

We sat around the kitchen table after Milo went down for the night, just the two of us and Nala, who had finally stopped pacing the halls.

“So,” Erin said, unwrapping her egg rolls.

She watched me carefully, the way people do when they’re trying to see if you’re actually okay or just pretending. “How are you holding up?”

“Better,” I said honestly.

“Still locking the nursery door every night, though. Baby monitor on full volume.

And Nala gets to sleep in my room now.”

“Rightfully so.

I still can’t believe she knew. That dog is basically Lassie.”

I laughed for the first time in days. “She’s smarter than all of us.”

“What happens next?” Erin asked.

“I’m changing the locks,” I said.

“Getting new cameras.

And filing for a permanent restraining order. Tyler’s not getting near my son again.”

“What about Miss Pam?”

“She’s already out on bail.

But she won’t be coming back here. She’s done.”

Erin leaned forward.

“So… are you gonna hire someone else?”

I shrugged.

“Eventually. For now, it’s just me, Milo, and the best security system nature ever made, Nala.”

I looked down at Nala, who perked up at the sound of her name.

“I’m serious,” I said, reaching to scratch behind her ears. “If it weren’t for her, none of this would’ve come to light.

I would’ve slept through it all.”

“You know what?” Erin said with a grin.

“Forget ‘good girl.’ She deserves a medal.”

“She deserves the world.”

“My ex wanted the money, and if it hadn’t been for Nala, he would’ve gotten everything he planned. But instead — he’s in custody, with no money, no child…”

“And no piece of his pants after Nala’s intervention,” Erin added.

We both laughed, and I hugged my four-legged hero — the dog who saved my baby’s life.

Erin raised her glass.

“To Nala — the dog who saw what we didn’t.”

I raised mine. “To Nala.”

She barked once, as if on cue.

Milo stirred on the baby monitor, his tiny arm stretching above his head, but he stayed asleep.

The little sigh he let out felt like the first truly peaceful sound in this house in so long.

And this time, for the first time in weeks, I felt like maybe I could sleep too.

A fragile calm settled over me, thin as glass but real enough to touch.