Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the kind that settles gently and feels comforting. No, this had been different. Heavier. Like something was missing, and the walls knew it.
Six months.
It had been six months since Roscoe passed.
And even now, there were moments where it didn’t feel real. Moments where Lewis still expected to hear the soft padding of paws across the floor, or a familiar huff from the corner of the room. Sometimes, he still glanced toward Roscoe’s favorite spot by the window without thinking.
It was strange, how silence could feel so loud.
Lewis stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, staring absently at his cup of tea. It had gone cold, but he hadn’t noticed.
Behind him, you watched quietly.
“You’re thinking about him again,” you said softly.
He didn’t turn, but his shoulders shifted slightly.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
You walked over, slipping your arms gently around his waist, resting your cheek against his back.
“I miss him,” he added, his voice quieter now.
“I know,” you murmured.
There was no need to say more. You both felt it—the absence, the love that didn’t go anywhere even after he was gone.
After a moment, Lewis exhaled slowly and turned in your arms.
“I saw something today,” he said.
You tilted your head. “Yeah?”
“A rescue,” he explained. “Online. Just… scrolling, you know. I wasn’t even looking for anything.”
Your heart gave a small, careful tug.
“And?” you asked.
He hesitated.
“And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”
You studied his face—the softness in his eyes, the uncertainty.
“Do you want to show me?” you asked gently.
He nodded, reaching for his phone.
When he handed it to you, the screen displayed a photo of a small dog—big ears, slightly oversized paws, and the kind of cautious expression that suggested he hadn’t quite figured the world out yet.
“Oh,” you breathed, your heart instantly melting. “He’s… adorable.”
Lewis smiled faintly. “Yeah. He is.”
“What’s his story?” you asked.
“Rescue said he was found on the street,” Lewis said. “Bit shy. Still getting used to people.”
You looked back at the photo, something warm and fragile blooming in your chest.
“He looks like he needs a home,” you said.
Lewis nodded.
There was a pause.
Not an uncomfortable one—but a meaningful one. The kind where both of you were thinking the same thing, but waiting to see if the other would say it first.
“Do you think…” he started, then stopped.
You met his eyes.
“Maybe,” you said softly, “we’re ready?”
His expression shifted—hope flickering carefully through the grief that still lingered.
“I don’t want it to feel like we’re replacing him,” he admitted.
Your hand found his, squeezing gently.
“We’re not,” you said. “Roscoe isn’t replaceable. He never will be.”
Lewis swallowed, nodding.
“But loving another dog?” you continued. “That doesn’t take anything away from him. If anything… it’s because of him.”
He let out a slow breath, like something inside him had loosened just a little.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
You smiled.
“So,” you said, holding up the phone again, “should we go meet him?”
—
The rescue center was quieter than you expected.
There was the occasional bark, the soft shuffle of movement—but mostly, it felt calm. Gentle.
Lewis walked beside you, his hand brushing against yours every so often, like he needed the reassurance.
“You nervous?” you asked lightly.
“A bit,” he admitted. “Feels… big.”
“It is big,” you said. “But it’s a good kind of big.”
A volunteer approached, smiling warmly.
“You must be here to see Milo,” she said.
Lewis glanced at you. “Milo?”
“His name, for now,” she explained.
You smiled. “We like it.”
“Come with me,” she said.
She led you down a short hallway, stopping in front of a small enclosure.
And there he was.
Smaller than you expected. Softer, too. His fur was slightly scruffy, his ears perked but cautious, and his eyes—his eyes held that same uncertainty you’d seen in the photo.
He didn’t rush forward.
He just watched.
Lewis crouched down slowly, not wanting to startle him.
“Hey, mate,” he said gently.
Milo tilted his head.
“It’s okay,” Lewis murmured. “We’re not scary, I promise.”
You knelt beside him, your shoulder brushing his.
“Hi, baby,” you said softly.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—slowly, carefully—Milo took a step forward.
Then another.
Until he was just within reach.
Lewis didn’t move too quickly. He let Milo come to him, let him sniff his hand, get used to his presence.
And then—
A small, tentative tail wag.
Your heart swelled instantly.
“Oh my god,” you whispered.
Lewis smiled, something bright and genuine breaking through in a way you hadn’t seen in a while.
“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to gently scratch behind Milo’s ear.
Milo leaned into the touch.
That was it.
That was the moment.
You both felt it.
Lewis glanced at you, his eyes shining slightly.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you nodded, your own eyes misting. “It’s him.”
—
The drive home felt different.
Lighter.
Milo sat in the back seat, curled up in the blanket you’d brought, occasionally glancing around like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
Lewis kept checking the rearview mirror.
“He’s okay?” he asked for the third time.
“He’s perfect,” you assured him, smiling.
When you pulled into the driveway, Lewis paused for a moment before getting out.
“You alright?” you asked.
He nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I just… haven’t done this in a while.”
You reached for his hand.
“We’ll do it together.”
He squeezed back.
“Together,” he echoed.
—
Inside, the house felt… different.
Still familiar. Still filled with memories.
But no longer empty.
Milo padded cautiously across the floor, his nails clicking softly as he explored. He sniffed everything—the couch, the rug, the corners of the room—taking it all in.
Lewis watched him carefully, his expression soft.
At one point, Milo wandered over to the window.
The same window.
Roscoe’s window.
He paused there, looking out.
Lewis’s breath caught slightly.
You slipped your hand into his.
“It’s okay,” you whispered.
He nodded, his voice quiet but steady.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
Milo turned, trotting back toward you both before settling down nearby with a small, content sigh.
Lewis let out a soft laugh.
“Already making himself at home.”
“Of course he is,” you smiled. “He knows he’s safe.”
Lewis crouched down, resting his hand gently on Milo’s back.
“Welcome home, mate,” he said.
Milo’s tail thumped softly against the floor.
Lewis looked up at you then, something warm and whole in his eyes again.
Not replacing.
Not forgetting.
Just… growing around the love that had always been there.
And as the evening settled in—quieter now, but no longer heavy—the house finally felt like home again.
rest in peace precious angel <3 im sure you will have all the fun playing in heaven and eating all your delicious vegan foods. and i know that you will always be looking after your dad 🤍🤍
we all will miss you so so much
hoping and praying that lewis is doing as well as he can and that he is surrounded by love.
