Three months later, just as I began walking again, Camille broke up with me — calmly, like she was canceling a dinner plan. Then she said, “I’ll take Max with me.” I laughed.
She never liked Max — barely cared for him. But she stormed off, furious. A week later, I returned from therapy to an empty house.
Max was gone.
I checked the cameras. She had slipped through the blind spots, but the audio was clear: “Come here, baby boy! Let’s go home with Mommy!” I called the cops — they said it was a “civil matter.” Max, my dog, my companion — reduced to a property dispute.
So I fought back.
Camille and I had a shared savings account. I drained it into a crypto wallet she couldn’t touch. She exploded.
I offered a deal: return Max, or kiss the money goodbye. The next day, she returned him in silence.
As Max pressed against my legs, trembling with joy, Camille muttered, “It’s just a dog.” I smiled. “And you’re just my ex.” Loyalty can’t be faked.
Max earned his place. She lost hers.
