Previous Episode
Of Pain, Trust, and Lap-Sized Love
It was late evening. The kind where the laughter of cousins echoes through the house and everyone's too full from snacks to care about the mess. One of my cousin brothers was playing around with a wooden stool. It was heavy, clunky, and clearly not meant for tossing or dragging—but boys, right?
In one misjudged move, it slipped from his hands and landed with a brutal thud… right on her tiny front paw.
She yelped—a sharp, helpless sound I never want to hear again. The room went still. My heart? It dropped to the floor, along with the stool.
My aunt rushed to her, scooped her up. There was blood. Her nail had cracked badly. She cleaned the wound, applied ointment, wrapped it up gently. I sat across the room on the floor, knees to my chest, watching—useless, angry at myself for not preventing it.
Me: Oh baby… I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve been faster…
She: (whimpering, being treated)
It hurts… it really hurts. But I’m being brave… because I know you’re right there.
She’s set down. She limps. We assumed she'd head to her bed. My sister even helped her into it.
She: Bed? No. Not what I need. My heart’s not there. My safety isn’t there.
She got up again. Limping. Determined.
She: Everyone's watching me, confused. But I know exactly where I want to be. No one gets it. Not the bed, not the corner. I just need… her.
And then… she walked across the room—every step probably hurting like hell—and settled into my lap.
She chose me.
She: There. Found you. My home. My calm. My everything. Where I feel warm even when it stings.
Me: (stroking her gently, tears welling up)
You came to me? Even in this much pain? Oh sweetheart…
She: (sighing deeply, relaxing)
It hurts a little less now. You make it hurt less. I can sleep here. I want to sleep here. (closing her eyes) I may run toward squirrels and treats… but when I’m hurting, I run only to you.
She didn’t cry. Didn’t whine. Just curled into me and sighed.
Me: I’m staying right here. This is our spot tonight.
She: Deal. Wake me when the world’s kinder again.
Me: I’ll wake you with a kiss and your favorite biscuit.
I didn’t move. I had dinner right there, sitting on the floor, and fell asleep the same way—with her in my lap and my heart wrapped tightly around her.
She falls asleep. The pain doesn’t vanish. But it dulls. Because love, it turns out, is the best kind of painkiller.
Of Pain, Trust, and Lap-Sized Love
It was late evening. The kind where the laughter of cousins echoes through the house and everyone's too full from snacks to care about the mess. One of my cousin brothers was playing around with a wooden stool. It was heavy, clunky, and clearly not meant for tossing or dragging—but boys, right?
In one misjudged move, it slipped from his hands and landed with a brutal thud… right on her tiny front paw.
She yelped—a sharp, helpless sound I never want to hear again. The room went still. My heart? It dropped to the floor, along with the stool.
My aunt rushed to her, scooped her up. There was blood. Her nail had cracked badly. She cleaned the wound, applied ointment, wrapped it up gently. I sat across the room on the floor, knees to my chest, watching—useless, angry at myself for not preventing it.
Me: Oh baby… I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve been faster…
She: (whimpering, being treated)
It hurts… it really hurts. But I’m being brave… because I know you’re right there.
She’s set down. She limps. We assumed she'd head to her bed. My sister even helped her into it.
She: Bed? No. Not what I need. My heart’s not there. My safety isn’t there.
She got up again. Limping. Determined.
She: Everyone's watching me, confused. But I know exactly where I want to be. No one gets it. Not the bed, not the corner. I just need… her.
And then… she walked across the room—every step probably hurting like hell—and settled into my lap.
She chose me.
She: There. Found you. My home. My calm. My everything. Where I feel warm even when it stings.
Me: (stroking her gently, tears welling up)
You came to me? Even in this much pain? Oh sweetheart…
She: (sighing deeply, relaxing)
It hurts a little less now. You make it hurt less. I can sleep here. I want to sleep here. (closing her eyes) I may run toward squirrels and treats… but when I’m hurting, I run only to you.
She didn’t cry. Didn’t whine. Just curled into me and sighed.
Me: I’m staying right here. This is our spot tonight.
She: Deal. Wake me when the world’s kinder again.
Me: I’ll wake you with a kiss and your favorite biscuit.
I didn’t move. I had dinner right there, sitting on the floor, and fell asleep the same way—with her in my lap and my heart wrapped tightly around her.
She falls asleep. The pain doesn’t vanish. But it dulls. Because love, it turns out, is the best kind of painkiller.
