Grief was supposed to bring our family together, but in my case it did the opposite. My mum had barely hit the ground before my dad started making changes that I didn’t expect at all. But what my dad didn’t know was that my mum had left one last surprise.
I was 19 years old when Mum died. It happened quickly – too quickly. One moment she was laughing at some silly TV show, and the next she couldn’t lift a spoon anymore. Cancer didn’t expect goodbyes. And neither did my dad.
Mum was all good and warm in our house, and wherever she went, Pina followed. That little French bun was always with her, her shadow in her fur. When the sickness took her, Pina would barely leave her bed, curled up next to her, as if trying to keep her there, just by being there for her.
I tried to do the same, but unlike Pina, I needed to eat, sleep, and pretend that my father was already erasing her from our lives, even before she was gone.
He never loved her – not the way she deserved. I never saw him hold her hand, never saw him bring her flowers or at least look at her the way a husband should. And in the last few days, he was barely faking it.
When the doctors told us that the time left was just a matter of time, he just nodded. No tears. No tantrums. Just a nod, like being told the dishwasher needed fixing.
‘I don’t want to go,’ I whispered, grabbing the edge of the black dress I’d borrowed from my cousin. It smelled like lavender and someone else’s life.
‘You have to,’ my father muttered, adjusting his tie in the corridor mirror. His voice was flat, as if we were going to a business meeting rather than my mum’s funeral.
I swallowed hard. ‘Pina has to go.’
He sighed, irritated. ‘It’s a dog, not a person.’
‘She was Mum’s dog.’
‘And Mum’s gone.’
Those words knocked the air out of my lungs. I felt Pina pressed against my leg, warm and shivering. I bent down to scratch her behind her ears. ‘I won’t be long, okay?’
She licked my fingers.
The funeral was like a fog of quiet condolences and hard hugs. Strangers told me I was ‘very strong,’ but I didn’t feel strong. I felt empty. My father hardly spoke at all, just nodded as if a tick on a list had been ticked off. When we got home, he took off his tie and threw it on the table.
‘It’s done,’ he said.
‘What’s done?’ – I burst out. ‘Mum just died and you’re acting like-’
‘Like what?’ He turned round, eyes cold. ‘Like I need to move on? Because I have to. And so should you.’
Pina shrieked at my feet. I picked her up, pressing my face against her fur. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Take that thing with you,’ he muttered, pulling a beer out of the fridge.
I hardly slept that night. Pina curled up next to me, breathing softly. For the first time since Mum died, I felt something resembling safety.
Until the next day came.
I came home in silence. There were no little paws clicking on the floor. There were no enthusiastic sniffles. Just the sound of my dad opening another bottle of beer.
Something was wrong.
‘Pina?’ – I called out, dropping my bag. My heart was already beating fast. ‘Pina!’
Nothing.
I turned to see my father. He was sitting in his usual spot, feet on the table, eyes on the TV. It was as if nothing had changed.
‘Where’s Pina?’ – I asked, my voice shaking.
He didn’t even look at me. ‘Got rid of her.’
The world tilted. My skin went cold. ‘What?’
‘She’s gone,’ he said, slowly sipping his beer. ‘Not my problem anymore.’
I couldn’t breathe. The words didn’t make sense, like he was speaking another language. ‘You…what do you mean, gone? Where is she!’
He finally looked at me, eyes dim. ‘To the orphanage.’ He shrugged, as if he were talking about an old chair he no longer needed. ‘She’ll be better off there than in my house.’
My body moved faster than my brain. I ran.
Out the door. Down the street. Into my car.
I could barely remember the way. Pina had never spent the night without her mum or me. She must have been scared and confused.
Several hours passed. Three different shelters before I found her.
The lawyer cleared his throat and opened the folder.
‘Your mother’s will is very…specific.’
Dad straightened, eyes filled with anticipation.
I held my breath.
‘Everything she had before the marriage remained exclusively hers,’ the lawyer continued.‘And since everything in that marriage was bought with her money-’ He fell silent, looking at my father. ‘That means everything will go to the sole heir.’
My father leaned forward, ready to take his share.
The lawyer turned to me.
‘Pina.’
Silence.
Father chuckled. ‘What?’
The lawyer didn’t even blink.‘Your mum left everything to Pina – her house, her savings, all her assets.Everything now belongs to Pina.’
The air in the room changed. But I was too late. Pina was already gone.
A fortnight passed in a haze of silence.My father barely spoke to me, not that I was worried.The house – Mum’s house – seemed emptier than ever.