After the Breakup, She Refused His Apology

Dale knew that I had a bad temper and he understood that it was highly unusual for me to stoop so low as to admit fault. How could I possibly have written an apology letter for the dog that took my child's life? It felt like an impossible task, grappling with the unimaginable grief and the conflicting emotions of guilt and anger that consumed me. Each attempt to even consider such a gesture felt like reopening a wound that would never heal.

“Look, you're not giving Harper a hard time. Right now, you're giving me a hard time.” He tried to convince Eileen. He proceed, "If Harper is really angry and doesn't want him, how could she possibly have taken good care of Rex all this time? We can't leave him alone at home. Or do you think we have to give him away? If we give him to someone else, are you sure he'll be well cared for and get enough food? She takes better care of Rex than both of us do.”

It was true. Since the dog came to our house, he was treated like a king. He always got the first bite of meat from the table. We walked around the place where he was lying down. The imported canned food he enjoyed cost more than a meal for us and all these expenses came out of my own pocket. It was a clear expression of love—both Dale and I adored him and we treated him as part of our family.

As for Eileen, she was a regular at nightclubs, often sharing images of her indulging in food, drinks and leisure activities. She rarely spent time at home. How could she be expected to provide proper care for Rex? Yet, she still found reasons to pout.

“But your wife is too tough on him. She's kept him in a cage and it's really affecting his mood. You can take him back, but you'll need to promise me that she won't put him in a cage. Otherwise, he's staying put.”

Dale was caught in the middle, carefully testing the waters with me. “She said you've scared the dog so badly it's traumatized. If I bring him back and he ends up in a cage again-”

“I will never put him in a cage again,” I cut him off, my words edged with frustration.

“What? So where will you put him if not in a cage?”

“In the child's room.”

“You don't really want Rex back, do you?” Dale thought I was joking. I took a photo of the empty child's room that I cleared out this afternoon and sent it to him. My heart shattered as I packed away his belongings, my poor son, defeated in life by a dog. How could this happen?

“I'm serious, his room is ready. Hurry up and bring him home.”

“Then where will Liam sleep?”

My heart tightened at the sound of my son's name. I swallowed, trying hard to maintain my composure as I replied, “Don't worry, I've got a cozy bed ready for him to sleep.”

The two of them fell silent. Shortly after, Dale's pretended reluctance but eventual agreement could be heard over the phone.

“Well, child’s room sounds okay. Just don't scold him if he gets on the couch, will you?”

“I won’t.”

I've always been a big dog lover. Most dogs were friendly towards me, except for this terrier named Rex. He bit me on his first day at our house. Fortunately, I was wearing cotton pants and wasn't bitten through.

Dale mentioned he had been wandering around for too long, causing stress and fear. But when Liam tried to get close to him, Rex bared his teeth at him. I was worried about my son getting bitten. But Dale didn't share my concern and saying, “Don't provoke him and he won't bite.”

His arrival made me uncomfortable. Why would he bring home a dog that was a danger to the family? Did he think this was Caesar Millan's show or something? Yet Dale pleaded with me to let us take in the dog temporarily and see if he would be tame down.

The dog behaved very well with him, but was aggressive and mean towards me and my son. As a compromise to ensure my child's safety and prevent Dale from feeling sad, I bought a dog’s cage and put Rex in there.

We lived with him for over a year and things were quite peaceful. I never expected the dog to bite my child one day. But how could he have bitten my child when he was always kept inside the crate? When I pulled up the surveillance camera footage, I was furious.

Apparently, Dale would always sneak him out of the crate whenever I wasn't home. On the day Liam was bitten, he was in the living room, wanting to draw at the table. He pulled up a chair to sit down, unaware that there was a sleeping dog underneath it. The dog was startled and immediately lunged at him, biting his calf.

In the surveillance video, it bared its teeth, asserting itself as if it were the master of the house. My son was crying and sitting on the ground and my heart was shattered. If I had been firm about giving it away from the beginning, this wouldn't have happened. But now I can't dwell on blaming myself. Before my son passed away, I still wished to keep him, feeling remorse about kicking him, but now, I just want to skin it alive.

And those scoundrels, I vowed they would pay for their deeds. After the water had boiled for the fifth or sixth time, the door finally creaked open. Dale came back with the accursed dog in tow.