Page 47 of Breaking Point

“That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me?”

“That’s two more questions, Ms. Hughes. You’re accruing quite the debt.”

Satisfaction curls in my stomach, and I cross my arms, looking out the window to hide the fact that I’m smiling. “You fight dirty.”

We settle into an easy silence, and for several minutes, I nearly forget the reason we left early in the first place.

Chesna. The vet. The wedding later.

When we pull into the lot though, all I can think about is the blood stain on my carpet. The same question carves a hollow in my stomach:

How could anyone hurt her?

Inside, a sterile, stagnant scent fills my nose as we walk the egg-shell white halls toward the observation room. I see her striped brown fur first. Just the sight of the swollen red stitches across her belly freezes me.

Chesna sleepily lifts her lids, spotting me and mewling softly. I swallow the lump in my throat before strolling toward her and gently burying my hands in her nape. I scratch behind her ears, kneeling down, quietly soothing circles into her back.

“Ms. Hughes?” I hear the doctor from the door, and after kissing her little head, I stand, walking outside with Crew.

“How is she?”

“She’s stable. The operation was successful, but we’d like to keep her here longer.”

“How long?”

“At least the rest of the week. Possibly longer depending on how she reacts to medication.”

My stomach sinks at the thought, but I shake my head. It doesn’t matter how much it costs. We’ll keep her here as long as we need. I can manage a couple more weddings if I need to.

“Is she…” I swallow the heaviness in my throat. “Is she going to be okay once she heals? She’ll be able to play and live… normally?”

The doctor nods. “She made it through the first night. The hard part is over now.”

Relief floods through me. “Thank you.”

Dinner comes quickly enough. Dad brought steaming noodles with a tangy sauce that lingers on my tongue as I twist another mouthful around my fork. We haven’t said much, which is unusual because Dad usually always has a million things to say.

Sometimes, it’s about work. Money. A new business proposition or a new client. He talks about the business like it’s a mutual effort. He always has, ever since we moved to Westos from our small island village near Prevya.I was only two at that time, but for most of my childhood, he told me of the things he sacrificed to be where we are now.

It hasn’t been easy living here. The war between Westos and Prevya ravaged a hole in the realm. While my village hadn’t been a part of it, we might as well have. We were downcast like Prevyains.

Building a life here was an uphill battle, and I owe my Dad a lot. But he has more than a few faults.

For a while after Mom died, I thought he might very well drown himself in debt. There were more than a few times that I picked him up from a casino. Paid his tab. Asked people to keep quiet about his gambling. And hoped for the best.

But he’s better… or at least, he’s the best I’ve seen him since Mom passed. His firm has been thriving, and… and things should be fine. Yet he’s still hiding things from me.

Do I bring it up? Do I wait for him to come clean? What could he possibly not be telling me?

“How’s the soda?” he asks from the other side of the table.

Usually when we have a meal, he’ll also bring a new bottle of sparkling for us to try. It’s been a tradition of ours since before I can remember. Today, it’s something light with a hint of blackberry.

“It’s nice, but I still like Bavarti better.”

It’s our communal favorite. In the two years since we tried it, I haven’t found anything better.

He hums in agreement, swirling his glass. “How’s Chesna?”

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