My heart dropped. I found a note on the nightstand:
“I have to disappear. Soon, you’ll understand.”
It was confusing and emotional. I kept calm for the girls’ sake, assuring them their dad had to leave early and everything was okay. But I couldn’t shake the worry. There were no calls, no texts. Just silence.
Back home, I braced myself for anything. But what I found waiting in our living room wasn’t sadness—it was a surprise wrapped in fur.
A puppy. A tiny St. Bernard, wagging his tail like we were his whole world.
The girls screamed with joy. And I found another note—this one from Matt. He explained he had seen someone giving away St. Bernard puppies while we were at the resort. Remembering the story I’d shared about my childhood dog, Max, he left early to make sure we’d have this one—Max Jr.
He wrote:
“I know I acted quickly, but I couldn’t let someone else take him. You told me how Max once saved your life. I wanted to bring that joy back to you—and to our family. Thank you for loving us.”
Tears welled up as I read it. All the fear, the confusion—it melted away in the warmth of that moment.
Just then, Matt walked through the door, carrying a bag of puppy supplies and wearing the most sheepish grin.
“I guess I should’ve explained better,” he said. I couldn’t help but laugh. We hugged, and I whispered, “You owe me.” He smiled. “Deal.”
That evening, we played in the yard, shared a movie on the couch, and let Max Jr. snuggle up with us for the night.
And yes—Matt kept his promise. He gave me the best life I could’ve imagined.