Christmas, Begin Again

I didn't sleep.

How could I, when every time I closed my eyes, I saw Marshmallow's scarred face? When Noah's words kept echoing in my head like a death knell?

Unauthorized surgeries. Cosmetic procedures. Done without proper care.

At eight in the morning, I was back at the clinic. My body felt hollow, like someone had scooped out everything inside and left only a shell that knew how to put one foot in front of the other.

Noah was in the examination room when I arrived, his scrubs different from last night but his eyes carrying the same exhaustion I felt. He looked up when I entered, and something in his expression softened.

"You didn't sleep either," I said.

A small, rueful smile. "Occupational hazard." He gestured toward a chair, and I sat while he pulled up something on his tablet. "I want to show you the X-rays and test results. You deserve to know exactly what was done to her."

The images on the screen looked alien. Wrong. Noah's finger traced lines and shadows that meant nothing to me until he started explaining.

"The procedures on her face—they removed tissue around her eyes to create a more 'doe-eyed' appearance. It's purely cosmetic, something you'd see in show cats, except this was done without anesthesia monitoring or post-operative care." His jaw tightened. "She also had her ear cartilage trimmed. Again, aesthetic. No medical reason."

My hands clenched in my lap. "She was in pain."

"Significant pain, yes. And look here—" He swiped to another image. "Her ribs are visible on the scan. She's lost nearly thirty percent of her body weight. The malnutrition affected her kidney function. We're managing it, but—" He paused, meeting my eyes. "Mikey, if you'd found her even a week later, we might not have been able to save her."

The room tilted. I gripped the edge of the chair until my knuckles went white.

"Someone did this to her," Noah continued, and now his voice carried an edge I hadn't heard before. Anger, carefully controlled. "Someone took a healthy animal and mutilated her for photographs. For content." He set the tablet down. "I've seen a lot in this job, but this—this is cruelty for vanity. Nothing more."

Purely for aesthetic reasons. For Sophie's perfect Instagram feed. For her two million followers who didn't know and wouldn't care that a living creature had suffered for their entertainment.

And Eddie had given her to Sophie. Had known. Had lied.

"I need to go," I said, standing abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor.

Noah stood too, concern flickering across his face. "Mikey—"

"I need to talk to someone." My voice sounded strange. Distant. "I need answers."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But promise me you'll come back. Marshmallow will want to see you when she's more alert."

I promised. Then I left before he could see my hands shaking.

The fraternity house sat on Greek Row like a monument to privilege—three stories of white columns and perfectly manicured lawn, Christmas lights strung across the porch with careless elegance. Eddie's Audi was parked in the circular driveway, gleaming black and expensive.

I'd been here dozens of times. Had felt small every single time, like I was playing dress-up in someone else's life.

Now I felt nothing but cold purpose.

I didn't knock. I pushed through the front door and into the marble foyer where EDM pulsed from hidden speakers and the air smelled like expensive cologne and last night's beer.

Eddie was in the living room, sprawled on a leather couch with his phone in his hand. He looked up when I entered, and relief flooded his perfect face.

"Mikey, thank God. I've been calling you all night—"

"How did Sophie get my cat?"

He blinked. Smiled uncertainly. "Babe, we talked about this. That's not—"

"Stop lying." The words came out flat. Hard. "I saw Marshmallow. I took her to an emergency vet. She's covered in surgical scars from procedures done for aesthetic reasons. She's been starved and neglected and tortured for Sophie's Instagram feed."

Eddie's smile faltered. "Mikey, you're upset—"

"How. Did. Sophie. Get. My. Cat."

Silence. Long enough that I saw the exact moment he decided to stop pretending.

"I was just helping Sophie with a project." He stood, running a hand through his hair in that familiar gesture that used to make my heart flutter. Now it just looked practiced. "She needed a white cat for her content, and Marshmallow was perfect. I was going to tell you eventually—"

"You let me put up flyers." My voice cracked. "You held me while I cried. You helped me search shelters. And the whole time, you knew exactly where she was."

"Babe, you're overreacting—"

"She almost died!" The words exploded out of me. "She was mutilated and starved and if I'd found her even a week later, she'd be dead. Because you gave her to someone who treated her like a prop!"

Eddie's expression shifted. The concern melted away, replaced by something harder. Irritated. "Okay, first of all, I didn't know Sophie would do all that. Second, it's just a cat, Mikey. You're acting like I committed murder."

Just a cat.

Just.

A.

Cat.

"She was mine," I whispered. "She was the only thing in this city that was actually mine, and you took her. You gave her away like she was nothing."

"Because she is nothing!" Eddie's voice rose, frustration bleeding through his polished exterior. "Jesus Christ, Mikey, do you know how exhausting it is? You and your attachment to that animal, your constant worry about money, your—" He stopped himself, but too late.

The truth was already out, hanging in the air between us like poison gas.

"My what?" I asked softly. Dangerously. "Finish the sentence, Eddie."

He looked away, jaw working. When he spoke again, his voice was tight with poorly concealed disdain. "Your desperate need to make everything a tragedy. Sophie needed the cat for two months. That's it. But instead of being reasonable, you turn it into this massive betrayal."

"You lied to me for three months."

"I was managing the situation!" He threw his hands up. "I was trying to help a friend while keeping you from having one of your emotional breakdowns. You're welcome, by the way."

Something inside me went very still. Very quiet.

"Is that what this has been?" I asked. "Managing me?"

Eddie's eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe, or just annoyance at being caught. "Don't twist my words."

"Your family business. The bankruptcy. All that money I gave you—"

"That was different—"

"How much of it was real, Eddie?"

He went silent. And in that silence, I saw everything I needed to see.

"Get out," he said finally. "You're being hysterical, and I'm done dealing with this."

I laughed. Actually laughed, high and broken and edged with something that might have been madness.

"I'm being hysterical," I repeated. "I'm the problem." I turned toward the door, then stopped. "Tell me one thing. Did you ever actually love me? Or was I just another project for you to manage?"

Eddie looked at me with those blue eyes that had once made me feel chosen. Special. Seen.

Now they just looked empty.

"Don't be dramatic, Mikey. It doesn't suit you."

I walked out. Down the marble steps, past the perfect lawn, away from the house that had always made me feel small.

And with every step, I felt something building inside me.

Something that felt like the beginning of an ending.

Or maybe, finally, a beginning.