“Wait,” she said.
She moved closer, slowly, with the scissors from the kitchen drawer in one hand.
Canela growled, but she was too exhausted to rise.
“I’m not hurting you,” Lupita whispered. “I’m only taking this off.”
Miguel held his breath.
The scissors slid under the rope.
For one second, time stretched thin
The building noises faded.
The puppy’s breathing, Lupita’s fingers, Canela’s fixed eyes, all of it seemed to float in one quiet place.
Then the rope snapped.
Canela flinched as if pain had answered before relief could arrive.
Something fell from inside the knot.
Not dirt.
Not a thorn.
