My husband James and I have been together nine years with our seven-year-old daughter and five-year-old son. Life is chaos — snacks under couch cushions, endless bedtime battles — so when James begged for a dog, I said no. I was already running a daycare, restaurant, and laundry service.
He promised he’d handle everything. I’d heard that before — with the fish, the hamster — but the kids campaigned hard, and eventually I caved. We adopted Daisy, a sweet rescue, and James really did take over her care.
But then one day Daisy slipped her collar and ran off. We spent hours searching the neighborhood until James found her three streets away. After that, I secretly bought Daisy a GPS collar just to feel safer.
Soon James’s dog walks started lasting three hours and sometimes he didn’t return until midnight. The kids stopped questioning it. One night Daisy disappeared too, and her GPS showed her miles away on the same street where she’d been lost before. I drove there, thinking James was having an affair.
At the house I found James with Daisy — and an elderly woman and her little grandson. He explained that months ago she saved his life in an accident, and he’d been helping them ever since, using dog walks as a cover because he didn’t want to worry me while I recovered from surgery.
I was overwhelmed, relieved, and sorry I assumed the worst. We all talked, thanked Carla for saving him, and left as friends. The next week I joined them to help — the kids, James, Daisy, and I became part of their little support circle.
In the end, what looked like deception was love and gratitude in disguise.