“Sixten needs longer walks.” As though I don’t know what a hound needs. I close my eyes, don’t want to see her. My head is spinning, and I feel sick. After everything I’ve done for you, I want to scream. After all the toys and treehouses I built, all the times I drove you to soccer practice. She tells me that she knows it isn’t easy, and I want to scream that a twenty-one-year-old doesn’t know a bloody thing, but something stops me.
