The beach outing had passed like a breeze. Sun, laughter, grilled fish, and the kind of silence that politely avoided the storm that had come before. By Monday, the workers were back at the shop, humming through their routines as if nothing had happened.
Asha stood outside, watering the row of potted flower plants and succulents that lined the storefront. The city air was warm, tinged with exhaust and roasted peanuts from the vendor down the street.
Jane crouched beside her beloved plants, whispering sweet nothings to a stubborn basil sprout. "You're doing amazing, sweetie," she cooed. "Don't let the sun bully you."
She took a deep breath, stretching her arms wide. "Ahhh. Pollution. I missed you."
Asha chuckled softly.
Jane, phone in hand, suddenly turned to her. "Hey, what do you think I should buy for my grandparents?"
She was scrolling through a shopping app with the intensity of someone choosing a wedding ring.
"I'm visiting them this weekend," she added, grinning. "And it's Grandpa's birthday. I want something that says 'I love you' but also 'I'm still your favorite even though I forgot to call last month.'"
Asha smiled. "Something warm. Maybe a sweater?"
Jane gasped. "Asha. Genius. Grandpa loves sweaters. He wears them even when it's thirty degrees. Says it keeps his dignity intact."
She laughed, then softened. "You know, when my parents split, I chose to live with my maternal grandparents. They didn't have much, but they had this weird little garden and a radio that only played old love songs. I used to dance with Grandpa while Grandma pretended not to cry over the lyrics."
Asha smiles behind the mask, letting the warmth of the memory settle. "They sound lovely."
"They are," Jane said, wiping a leaf. "Grandma once told me, 'If you're going to be sad, at least wear lipstick.' So I wore red lipstick to my first heartbreak. Looked like a tragic tomato."
Just then—
Ben appeared.
From nowhere.
Like a confused ghost who had taken a wrong turn.
He stood behind them, holding a single slipper.
"Hey," he said slowly. "Did anyone lose… this?"
Jane blinked. "Ben. That's mine. From last week. Why do you have it now?"
Ben looked at the slipper, then at Jane, then at the sky. "I found it in the freezer."
Asha stared. "Why was it in the freezer?"
Ben shrugged. "I thought it was a frozen fish. I was defrosting it."
Jane burst out laughing. "Ben, my slipper is not a tilapia!"
Ben looked genuinely puzzled. "It had the same shape."
Asha shook her head, smiling. "You're unbelievable."
Ben nodded solemnly. "I get that a lot."
The shop was glowing with life.
Customers gushed in like a gentle tide. Mothers guiding curious toddlers, teens slipping in with quiet smiles, and even a few elderly guests who came just to sit and feel the soft warmth of a sleeping pup against their legs.
The dogs, all fully vaccinated and lovingly groomed, greeted each visitor with wagging tails and gentle eyes. Some curled up beside children during storytime, others trotted around with squeaky toys, their joy contagious.
Asha stood near the counter, watching the flow with quiet pride. The shop wasn't just a business, it was a sanctuary. A place where people came to breathe, to laugh, to heal.
Jane was mid-conversation with a particularly stubborn fern.
"You're not dying today, okay? I've already lost three succulents this month and I'm not emotionally prepared."
Asha chuckled as she refilled the shelves with dog foods.
While Ben guided a group of kids through the Puppy Haven Tour a hands-on experience where children learned how to gently pet dogs to sleep, change litter boxes, and teach simple tricks like "sit" and "paw." The dogs responded with patient enthusiasm, tails wagging as treats were handed out.
For teens and adults who preferred quiet time, the shop offered Solo Therapy Sessions it's a private corners where guests could sit alone with a dog, feed them with shop-provided treats, and simply exist in peaceful companionship. Outside food and toys weren't allowed, but the shop's curated selection was more than enough.
Some customers asked about adoption, and while the paperwork took time, they were welcome to visit anytime to bond, to play, to reconnect.
Back by the counter, Jane scrolled through her shopping app. "Asha," she called, "what do you think of this mug? It says 'World's Okayest Grandpa.' Too honest?"
Asha smiled. "Maybe go with something warmer."
Jane snorted. "Fine. I'll get the 'Grill Master of the Century' one. He burns everything, but he does it with pride."
Just then—
Ben appeared again.
Holding a dog bowl.
Upside down.
"Hey," he said slowly. "Is this a hat?"
Jane blinked. "Ben. That's a bowl."
Ben looked at it, then at the dog beside him. "Oh. Then whose hat did I just give to the poodle?"
Asha sighed. "Ben, please don't accessorize the dogs."
Ben nodded solemnly. "Too late. He's wearing sunglasses too."
Jane burst out laughing. "We're going to get sued by a fashion-forward poodle."
The shop buzzed with laughter, barking, and the soft hum of healing.
And for a moment, everything felt exactly as it should.
The late afternoon light filtered through the shop's windows, casting soft golden streaks across the counter where Jane, Asha, and Ben stood. The dogs were mellow now—some napping in cozy corners, others lazily chewing on plush toys. A few children giggled nearby, feeding treats to a sleepy golden retriever.
Jane was still scrolling through her shopping app.
Ben, who had just returned from trying to teach a puppy how to play fetch with a slipper, plopped a dog bowl on the counter. "I think I accidentally taught the poodle how to play dead. He won't move now."
Jane snorted. "That's just nap time, Ben."
Then—Jane's phone rang.
She answered casually, still smiling.
But within seconds, her expression changed.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes widened. Tears welled up and spilled over before she could speak.
Asha leaned in, concerned. "Jane?"
Jane didn't respond. Her gaze was distant, locked on something far beyond the shop walls.
She turned abruptly, walked around the counter, and headed straight for the break room.
"Jane?" Asha called again, following her.
Ben blinked, confused. "Did she forget her slipper again?"
Inside the break room, Jane grabbed her bag from the locker with trembling hands. She didn't say a word. She didn't look back.
She walked past Asha and Ben at the counter, her steps uneven, her breath shallow.
"Jane!" Ben called, reaching out.
But Jane didn't hear him.
Ben stepped aside as she passed, watching her go. "She's… not okay."
The door closed behind her.
And the warmth of the shop dimmed, just slightly.
The provincial hospital was dim under the late evening light, its corridors echoing with the soft shuffle of nurses and the occasional beep of monitors. Jane arrived breathless, her shoes dusty from the long trip, her heart pounding with dread.
She spotted her grandmother in the waiting area, sitting stiffly on a plastic bench, hands clasped tightly around a handkerchief. Her eyes were red, her shoulders trembling.
"Grandma," Jane said, rushing to her side. "What happened?"
Her grandmother looked up, voice barely above a whisper. "It's your Grandpa. His kidneys… they failed again. They rushed him in this morning."
Jane's stomach dropped. "Again? But the doctor said last time he needed dialysis."
"He did," her grandmother said, nodding. "They told him. They said if he didn't start soon, it would get worse. But he said he was fine. He didn't want to be a burden. He didn't want to travel far."
Before Jane could respond, a doctor approached them. He looked tired but composed, his white coat slightly wrinkled from a long shift.
"You're the granddaughter?" he asked gently.
Jane stood. "Yes. Jane. How is he?"
The doctor took a breath. "Your grandfather is stable for now, but his condition is critical. This is the second acute episode of kidney failure, and his heart is under significant stress. We've started IV fluids to manage his electrolytes and blood pressure, but…"
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"…he should have started dialysis weeks ago. If he had, we might have avoided this crisis. His creatinine levels are dangerously high, and his potassium is elevated. That puts him at risk for cardiac arrest."
Jane's voice cracked. "Is there still a chance?"
"There is," the doctor said. "But it's narrowing. We don't have dialysis equipment here, and we're running low on medications. He needs to be transferred to a tertiary hospital immediately one with a dialysis unit and cardiac monitoring. If we delay, his heart may not hold."
Jane nodded, swallowing hard. "We'll transfer him. I'll make the arrangements."
The doctor gave a small nod. "I'll prepare the referral. But please—make it soon."
Jane turned to her grandmother, who was already crying again.
"I'll take care of it," Jane said, her voice trembling. "We're not losing him. Not like this."
Her grandfather lay on the hospital bed, frail and pale, his chest rising and falling beneath the thin blanket. A saline drip hung beside him, and the monitor beeped steadily, tracking a rhythm that felt too slow.
"Grandpa," Jane whispered, stepping closer.
He turned his head slightly, his eyes fluttering open. "Jane," he rasped, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You came."
Jane sat beside him, her voice trembling. "Of course I did. You scared us."
He chuckled weakly. "I always do."
She took his hand gently, careful not to disturb the IV line. "The doctor said you should've started dialysis weeks ago."
Her grandfather looked away. "I didn't want to be a burden."
Jane's eyes welled up. "You're not a burden. You're my favorite person. You taught me how to dance with a broom and how to make burnt toast taste gourmet."
He smiled again, but it faded quickly.
"The doctor says we need to transfer you," she continued. "To a bigger hospital. They can help you better there."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he shook his head slowly. "No need."
Jane blinked. "Grandpa…"
"I know what the doctor said," he murmured. "But we're not rich, child. You've got your own life. I don't want you chasing bills for me."
Jane's voice cracked. "Don't say that. We'll figure it out. I'll find a way."
He squeezed her hand, his grip weak but warm. "You've always taken care of me. Let me do this one thing my way."
Jane blinked back tears. "You took care of me first."
Jane cry in silence, the monitor beeping softly beside them.