Losing my mom at 19 was the worst pain I had ever known. Cancer had taken her quickly, mercilessly, and in its wake, it left a house that suddenly felt hollow.

But I wasn’t the only one grieving. Peanut, my mom’s little Frenchie, had been her shadow. That dog never left her side, curling up beside her even in her final days, licking her hands as if she could heal her.

Dad never cared about Peanut. He barely cared about me. He only tolerated the dog because Mom did. And when she was gone, I should have known things would change.

But I didn’t expect **this.**

The funeral had barely ended when I came home and felt it immediately—something was wrong. **Too quiet.**

I searched the house. No clicking of tiny paws on the floor, no snuffling from Peanut’s bed.

I turned to my father, who was already slumped on the couch with a beer in hand.

**”Where’s Peanut?”** My voice was tight, dread curling in my stomach.

He didn’t even look up. **”Got rid of her.”**

I felt like I’d been punched. **”What do you mean, ‘got rid of her’? Where is she?!”**

He shrugged, taking a sip. **”Some shelter. Better off there than in my house.”**

My knees almost gave out. **He threw her away like trash.**

I wanted to scream, to punch him, to make him feel the loss I felt. But he was already dead inside. There was nothing to break.

After that, I barely spoke to him. I spent days searching for Peanut, calling every shelter in town. By some miracle, I found her. She had been scheduled for adoption the next day. I picked her up, held her close, and promised her she would never be abandoned again.

I knew then—I couldn’t stay in that house.

Two weeks later, my mom’s lawyer called.

**”There’s something you need to come in for.”**

Confused, I went to his office. He handed me an envelope with my name on it. My mother’s handwriting. My hands shook as I opened it.

**”Sweetheart, if you’re reading this, I’m gone. And I know your father is already showing his true colors. I’ve seen them for years. That’s why I made arrangements. You don’t have to stay. Check with the lawyer—everything is in place. Peanut and you will always have a home. I made sure of it.**

**I love you. More than anything. Now go live your life, free.”**

Tears streamed down my face. The lawyer explained that Mom had secretly **bought a small house in my name.** She had been planning for this, knowing exactly what kind of man my father was.

That night, I packed my things, took Peanut, and left. I didn’t say a word to my father. He didn’t deserve one.

When I arrived at the little house my mom had left me, I let Peanut down. She sniffed around, wagging her tail, then curled up beside me on the couch.

We were home.

And for the first time since Mom passed, I didn’t feel lost. I felt **free.**