Love and hate intertwined

I carried a bag of expensive health supplements and took the subway to Queens.

My mother had remarried years ago and was living a comfortable, happy life with a kind man. I sat in her sunlit living room for fifteen minutes, exchanged a few polite pleasantries, and then excused myself.

I took a cab back to Manhattan. The taxi dropped me off a block away from our luxury high-rise. Walking down the tree-lined avenue, I saw them.

Serena and Silas were strolling side-by-side under the autumn leaves.

Serena was talking, gesturing with her hands as she told a story. I saw my famously unapproachable husband let out a soft laugh, warm lines crinkling the corners of his eyes.

I froze on the sidewalk, my feet glued to the concrete.

As they walked, a scruffy stray dog suddenly darted out from the bushes lining the sidewalk and barked wildly at Serena. Startled, Serena let out a scream and practically threw herself into Silas's arms.

Silas caught her, his hands wrapping around her waist to steady her.

He held that pose for a moment before quickly letting go.

He turned his head, and his eyes met mine. I was standing less than twenty feet away.

Serena recovered faster than he did. "Nina!" she called out, stepping back.

I walked forward, my face entirely blank. Before Serena could spin whatever lame excuse she had prepared, I simply bypassed them, crouched down, and scooped the dirty dog into my arms.

The little terrier mix flinched at first, then buried his wet nose into my cashmere sweater, trembling, but he didn't fight me.

"Silas," I said, looking up at him with a devastatingly calm smile. "I'm keeping him."

The atmosphere between the three of us instantly plummeted to a biting freeze.

Smiling, I smoothed down the dog's matted fur and repeated: "I'm keeping him."