Grief is supposed to unite families, but mine did the reverse.

I scarcely buried my mother when my father made unexpected alterations.

However, my father was unaware that my mother had left one last surprise.

My mother died when I was 19. It was too fast. She laughed at a ridiculous reality show one minute and was too weak to lift a spoon the next. Cancer doesn’t wait for goodbyes. But neither did my dad.

Mom was warm and lovely in our house, and Peanut followed her everywhere. French Bulldog was her fur shadow, attached to her side. Peanut scarcely left her bed when she got sick, snuggling with her like he could keep her alive.

I tried, but unlike Peanut, I had to eat, sleep, and pretend my father wasn’t deleting her before she was gone.

He never loved her properly. I never saw him touch her hand, bring her flowers, or gaze at her like a husband. In his latter days, he scarcely pretended.

He nodded when the doctors said it was time. No weeping. No breakdown. Just nodded, as if commanded to fix the dishwasher.

“I don’t want to go,” I whimpered, grasping my cousin’s black dress hem. Smelled like lavender and someone else’s life.

My father said, “You have to go,” adjusting his tie in the hall mirror. His speech was bland, like we were going to a business meeting, not my mother’s funeral.

Swallowed. Peanut should come.”

He moaned in frustration. “She’s a dog, not a person.”

“She was Mom’s dog.”

“And Mom’s gone.”

My lungs collapsed at the words. Peanut’s warm, quivering body touched my leg. Behind her ears, I bent down to scratch. “I won’t be long, okay?”

My fingers were licked.

The funeral was a whirlwind of whispered condolences and stiff hugs. Others called me “so strong,” but I didn’t feel strong. A hollow feeling. My father nodded like a to-do list, scarcely speaking. After coming home, he threw his tie on the counter.

He said, “That’s it.

Just that? I snapped. “Mom died, and you’re acting like…”

“Like what?” Her eyes were cold as she turned. “Do I have to continue? Because I do. As do you.”

Peanut whimpered at my feet. Picking her up, I buried my face in her fur. “Going to bed.”

“Take that thing with you,” she said, taking a fridge beer.

I scarcely slept that night. Peanut cuddled up next to me, breathing peacefully. I felt safe for the first time since Mom died.

Until tomorrow.

Silence greeted me home. Little paws not clicking on floor. No snorting excitement. Just my dad opening another beer.

Something was off.

“Peanut?” I dropped the bag and called. My heart was racing. “Peanut!”

Nothing.

I faced my dad. Sitting with his feet up, he watched the TV as usual. Like nothing changed.

Where’s Peanut? My voice shook as I asked.

Not even looking up. “I eliminated her.”

Tilted world. My skin cooled. “What?”

“She’s gone,” he sipped slowly. “Not my issue anymore.”

Unable to breathe. Like he was speaking another language, his words made no sense. “What, gone? She’s where?

Finally, he glanced at me with dull eyes. “A shelter somewhere.” He shrugged, as if discussing an old chair he no longer required. “Better there than my house.”

My body moved before my mind. Started running.

Leaving. Down the road. To the car.

I barely remembered the trip. Mom and I never left Peanut overnight. She must have been scared and confused.

Hours passed. After three shelters, I discovered her.

She shivered in a steel cage corner. She made a frantic whimper as her wide, dark eyes met mine. She shoved her little body against the bars, her tail pathetically flailing.

“Peanut,” I inhaled.

A melancholy expression came from the front desk clerk. “Can I help?”

I’m taking her home.” My voice shook. She’s my dog.

A woman’s expression changed. Sorry, but your father signed the delivery papers.”

“So what? He lacked the right…

She sighed. You no longer own her legally.” She hesitated, then softened. “Her new owner will pick her up today.”

I wanted to fight, yell, act.

It was too late.

Peanut was gone.

Silence lasted two weeks. My father rarely spoke to me, but I didn’t care. Mom’s house felt emptier than ever. No Peanut. No warmth. Only the ghost of my losses.

Call arrived.

“There’s something you need to come here about,” my mother’s lawyer stated. His unintelligible voice made my stomach twist.

My father was there when I arrived. His arms crossed, foot thumping the floor furiously, he scarcely addressed me. She was waiting, not mourning. Probably for money.

Clearing his throat, the lawyer opened a folder. “Your mother’s will is very specific.”

My father straightened, eyes sparking with expectation.

Holding breath.

“Everything she owned before the marriage remained exclusively hers,” the lawyer said. Since her money was used to purchase everything in their marriage… Looking at my father, he halted. “That means everything benefits the sole beneficiary.”

Father leaned forward to collect.

The lawyer faced me.

“Peanut.”

Silence.

My father laughed loudly. “What?”

Lawyer didn’t blink. Peanut received your mother’s house, savings, and assets. Peanut now owns everything.”

Air changed in the room. My father tensed. I heard his raspy gasp.

That’s crazy! He shouted in disbelief. “A bitch can’t own anything.”

“Correct,” the lawyer said. “That’s why her legal guardian controls the estate.” He looked me in the eye after closing the folder.

It hit me instantly.

Peanut was my charge.

This meant I owned everything.

Father’s face contorted in anger.

My first smile in a while.

Dad turned pale, then red. His fists were on the table. I had never seen him cry before.

This is a joke. Stupid joke, he said.

Lawyer didn’t blink. He simply slid the papers over the desk. Legally binding. Your wife spoke clearly. “You’re not taking.”

I saw my dad panic. The jaw tightened and respiration accelerated. His eyes flickered between the lawyer and me, and he grasped the chair as if to cling on.

Something clicked in his mind. He stood up hurriedly, scraping the chair on the floor.

“I’ll get the dog back.”

Smirked. “Best of luck.”

Stormed off. I released him.

Peanut was gone when he arrived at the shelter.

Ashley, my mother’s best friend, volunteered there for years. Peanut was taken home immediately when she saw her at the intake desk. My father mistakenly gave Mom’s favorite pet to someone he liked.

He had nothing left when he arrived to claim her stuff.

By then, I left.

Ashley accepted me as her own. Her home kept me safe, not simply alive. Loved. Though I had the house and money, Peanut was vital. She cuddled with me every night, content and safe from the man who never loved us.

My dad?

He was without.

He earned it.

My final words to him?

Mom always knew you’d be alone.