Kenny didn’t scream, and he didn’t raise his voice. The coldness in his tone was far more terrifying than any shouting match could have been.
He raised his right hand, revealing a frayed leather leash covered in damp mud. Tucked safely behind his legs was Frankie—soaked, panting heavily, but alive and unharmed. Kenny had spotted our elderly dog wandering near the main road on his drive home from work and pulled over just in time.
Diane scoffed, brushing a speck of dust off her blouse. “Oh, see? The dog is fine! There was no reason for your wife to scream at me like I’m a criminal. Now, tell her to make up the guest room so I can rest.”
Kenny walked past her without a word, taking Frankie into the laundry room to dry his paws with a warm towel.
“Kenny?” Diane called out, her voice sharpening with impatience. “Are you listening to me?”
When Kenny walked back into the kitchen, he held her emergency key in one hand and her heavy suitcase handle in the other.
What was the unexpected decision Kenny made? Continue reading Part 3 below to see his ultimatum.
