But with each circle, her voice got a little tighter. By afternoon, Lisa had checked every corner of her property, knocked on the neighbors’ doors, and crawled beneath her deck, her knees scraping against gravel and damp leaves. No Nina. Not even a trace. Not the jingle of her collar, not a tuft of fur, not a single pawprint in the mud by the garden.
The worst part was the stillness. If there had been a struggle, a sound, anything, maybe Lisa could’ve reacted. But there had been nothing. No cry, no yelp, not even a disturbed flower bed. Just a breeze and the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. That night, she barely slept. She kept the back door cracked open, a bowl of food just outside.