Here is another section that pained me to cut. I wanted to include the dog as a symbol of hope, but I could not quite get it to fit with the arc of the narrative.

On the morning of June 5, Rob met Leslie at the BART station, and they headed to the San Francisco SPCA, arriving just before the doors opened. They walked the Potrero Center’s early hush. Leslie bought a coffee, and stopped it slowly. They wound through aisles at Petco, studying prices on beds, toys, and bones.

Once inside the SPCA, they found themselves pulled toward the smaller dogs. There was a calm and warm-eyed pinscher-terrier mix, and a beagle mix curled in a corner. But just as they were about to decide, Leslie stopped, drawn to a Bolognese mix with white hair that fell in soft waves. That dog rolled onto her back with a quiet, vulnerable joy, as if she had been waiting for them all her life. Leslie smiled, “This one.”

They sat down to fill out the papers, excitement building in small murmurs, but then the questions came. Proof of Arlinda’s address was needed, but her checkbook sat back at Rob’s apartment. And then the staff unfurled the soft-eyed dog’s story. She was 10 years old, her teeth worn and in need of major dental work. Just as this news settled on them, Rob’s phone rang. Arlinda was frantic, asking where her backpack with her laptop had gone. Rob tried to reassure her they were safe at home. But the words did not sink in.

They adopted a pinscher-Chihuahua mix and made their way to Highland to show Arlinda the new gift. On the way, Arlinda called again. She was certain Rob had moved into her house, certain he was dividing her things with Leslie. He breathed deeply, told her softly that he was still in the city, and he would be with her soon with her backpack and laptop.

Leslie and Rob made their way through the hospital corridors discreetly concealing the dog inside Leslie’s purse. When they entered her room. Arlinda was visibly upset. Rob tried to lift her spirits. “Leslie and I have a little surprise for you,” he said.

“A Lamborghini?” she asked, her mood brightening.

Leslie smiled, shaking her head. “Not quite.” She gently pulled the dog from her purse, prompting a round of laughter. It was a great relief to hear Arlinda’s coos after the stressful phone calls earlier.

Arlinda’s expression softened as she embraced the dog. “I love him.”

“It’s not a Lamborghini,” Rob acknowledged with a grin.

“How about Lamb for short?” Leslie suggested. Just as they began to settle into the joy of the moment, a nurse entered and gently reminded them that pets were not allowed in the hospital. The mood in the room shifted, and the air deflated. Rules.