The Waiting
September was warm, dry, and bathed in golden sunlight. The low autumn sun glared relentlessly, especially in the late afternoon. Ethan lowered the sun visor—it shielded him from the worst of it, but Sophie…
How many times had he told her to leave the car at home? He’d gladly drive her to work, pick her up in the evening. But their schedules never quite aligned.
*”It’s sweet that you worry about me. But I drive carefully—you’ve said so yourself. I can’t live without the car,”* Sophie would say, nuzzling into him.
*”Fine. But at least promise you’ll wear sunglasses. Next week the rain starts, and it’ll get colder. Though wet roads and puddles are just as dangerous as blinding sun. Either way, it’s a risk.”*
*”You’re such a worrier,”* she’d laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. *”I’ll be fine. Promise.”*
Ethan parked outside their house, glancing automatically at their third-floor windows. The sun glared off the glass—were the blinds drawn or not? If not, the flat would be stifling, baked by the afternoon heat.
Sophie’s car wasn’t there. Odd. She usually beat him home, dinner already underway. No missed calls, no texts. Unease prickled as he locked the car and stepped inside.
***
They’d met eighteen months ago. Ethan had been driving home when he spotted a small, flustered woman standing next to a car with its door hanging open—a flat tire. He’d pulled over, changed it for her, and they’d been inseparable ever since.
Sophie had been renting a boxy little flat before they moved in together. Petite, stubborn, fiercely independent. With her, he felt strong, protective—but she hated coddling. Soon, he’d asked her to move in. Why waste money on rent when she was always at his place?
His once-bare bachelor pad had transformed under her touch. Soft blankets appeared, scented candles, cushions in every colour. The air smelled of baking and vanilla. It wasn’t just a flat anymore—it was home.
Then came the dog.
She’d found the muddy puppy shivering under a hedge during a storm. *”Ethan, look at him! He’ll die out here!”*
*”Sophie, he’s filthy. Probably sick. He’ll wreck the place,”* Ethan grumbled. He’d never been an animal person.
*”I’ll clean him, take him to the vet tomorrow. Please.”* She clutched the shivering creature to her chest, eyes pleading. He knew that look—argue further, and she’d walk out with the dog.
So Duke stayed.
The scruffy ball of fur grew sleek and strong, a mix of who-knew-what breeds. Ethan tolerated him, even grew fond, but Duke was Sophie’s dog through and through—ignoring Ethan’s commands, trailing after her like a shadow.
Life was good.
***
Ethan heard the whining before he even reached the door. The moment it opened, Duke bolted past him toward the stairs.
With a sigh, Ethan locked up and followed. *”Slow down, mate.”*
But Duke wasn’t waiting. He tore down the street, stopping only to glance back, urging Ethan to keep up.
Then Ethan understood.
Duke only ran like this for Sophie.
Dread coiled in his gut as he sprinted after the dog, lungs burning. They wove through parks, backstreets—until the road curved, and Duke skidded to a halt near shattered glass strewn across the tarmac.
A boy by a fence shrugged when Ethan called out. *”Crash. Ambulance took someone. Then the tow truck came.”*
*”What colour was the car?”*
*”Dunno. Red?”*
Ethan’s hands shook as he dialed the hospital.
The doctor’s face said everything.
*”She didn’t make it.”*
His world shattered.
***
The nights blurred. Duke howled at the door. Neighbours banged on the walls. Ethan drank until sleep dragged him under—only to wake to phantom sounds of Sophie stirring beside him.
After the funeral, Duke vanished. Returned days later, gaunt and filthy. Ate once, then curled up by Sophie’s slippers. By morning, he was gone again.
Ethan found him at the crash site days later, ribs sharp beneath matted fur. The dog barely lifted his head when Ethan lay beside him in the damp grass.
When he woke, Duke was cold.
He buried him under the hedge where Sophie had found him.
***
The market was nearly empty, rain drizzling. A boy clutched a shivering puppy.
*”You want him, mister?”*
Ethan hesitated. Then—*”How much?”*
The boy eyed him, wary. *”Nah. You don’t really want him.”*
*”I do.”* The words surprised him. *”My dog just died.”*
After a long pause, the boy handed the pup over. *”His name’s Duke.”*
Ethan flinched but didn’t turn back.
At home, the puppy piddled on the floor. Ethan laughed—a rough, broken sound. *”Your predecessor had better manners.”*
That night, for the first time, he didn’t dream of Duke’s barking.
Only Sophie. Smiling.
He clung to sleep, chasing her in the dark—waiting.
