I’m Jamie, and after a life-altering accident, my dog Bella was my savior, always there for me. When my girlfriend dumped me, she stole Bella, though she never cared for her. The cops wouldn’t help, but my clever plan ensured she regretted it.
It began with the crash. One second, I’m driving, humming a pop tune; the next, I’m in a hospital, tangled in tubes. Doctors mentioned “broken bones” and “rehab,” but it felt like my life was shattered. Early weeks were torture. My girlfriend, Lauren, came daily, taking selfies with me, but her attention drifted to her phone. Pain meds dulled my senses, yet her absence stung. Home at last, Bella, our fluffy shelter mutt, greeted me with boundless excitement. She stayed close, her warmth easing my sleepless, pain-filled nights, her gentle gaze a lifeline of love.
Bella was my everything. Lauren helped at first, fetching snacks and pillows, but soon grew annoyed. “Must Bella sleep on the bed?” she’d gripe, swiping at fur. “She helps me,” I’d say, and she’d huff. As Lauren faded, Bella shone, guarding me during baths, waking me from crash nightmares. The breakup hit as I regained strength. “I need to find myself,” Lauren said, but I knew her ex was back. I didn’t care until she said, “I’m keeping Bella.” I scoffed. She’d always complained about Bella’s shedding, never fed or walked her. “She’s mine,” I said. Lauren sneered, “We adopted her together. She’s great for my posts.” I roared, “She’s not a prop! She stays.”
Lauren left, but her messages poured in: “Give me MY dog!” “My followers want Bella!” I blocked her. Bella was mine—I cared for her, loved her through rain and fear. But during my therapy session, Lauren slipped in, dodging my cameras’ view but not their sound. “Let’s go, girl,” her voice played back. My heart broke. The police called it a “civil matter” due to our old lease. At her parents’ house, Bella’s frantic barks met a slammed door. War, then. Our shared savings, mostly my cash, was her target. I moved it all to a crypto account she couldn’t touch.
Lauren texted soon, “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY MONEY?” I replied, “Return Bella, or it’s gone.” She cursed, but next day, she stood at my gate, silently handing over Bella’s leash. Bella bounded to me, tail wagging wildly. “Just a dog,” Lauren muttered, walking away. I smiled, stroking Bella. “And you’re just my ex.” Later, I texted, “Market crashed. Money’s lost.” A fib—the funds were fine—but her pain felt fair. Petty? Maybe. Worth it? Bella’s curled up next to me, happy. Her loyalty earned her place; Lauren lost hers seeing her as a social media star. Money returns, but trust, once broken, doesn’t. She learned that lesson.
