Love, Loss, Puppy, and Goodbye

It was in the spring of 2019, a season that always carried with it the promise of renewal and warmth, when I decided to give Daniel a gift that I believed would bring light into his life. For his birthday, I brought home a tiny golden retriever puppy we named Milo. My intention was simple yet heartfelt—I wanted Daniel to feel joy again, to have a companion who relied on him, and perhaps to rekindle his sense of responsibility and belonging. Milo was not just a pet; he was meant to be a bridge back to life for Daniel.

We had made plans to travel to London together. The trip was important not just because it was my sister’s birthday celebration, but also because I had a series of business meetings and a conference I couldn’t miss. For weeks, Daniel had agreed he would come along, and I felt relieved knowing he’d be by my side for both the personal and professional commitments ahead. But on the evening before our flight, Daniel broke the news that he wouldn’t be coming.

He sat across from me, his voice heavy but calm. “I think I’ll stay. I’m really not feeling up to traveling, and honestly, it might be better for me to stay with Milo. He needs someone here.”

I tried my best to change his mind. “Even if you don’t feel great, maybe being around family and having a change of scenery will help. My sister would love to see you, and being with me is always better than staying behind alone.”

But Daniel was firm. He reassured me repeatedly, insisting that he disliked London anyway and that I should go without him. He even encouraged me not to cancel anything. “You’ll be fine,” he said with that quiet conviction that always made me hesitate to push further. “Just go, and don’t worry about me.”

Reluctantly, I agreed. The next day, I boarded the plane and headed to London, carrying with me a lingering unease that I tried to bury under the obligations awaiting me.

That night, Daniel went out for dinner with one of his closest friends. He sent me photos of them together, smiling at a cozy restaurant, raising glasses, and enjoying good food. He looked happy, more relaxed than I had seen him in weeks. He messaged me later, saying they had a wonderful evening. Just before midnight, he told his friend it was time to leave because he needed to get back home to check on Milo.

Meanwhile, I was celebrating my sister’s birthday with my family. We laughed, we shared stories, and we enjoyed the kind of warmth that only family gatherings can bring. Late that night, when I returned to my hotel, I noticed Daniel had called me. It was already late, and I didn’t want to risk waking him if he had gone to sleep, so I decided not to return the call. That small decision would later haunt me.

The following morning, I woke early to prepare for my conference, but something felt off. I couldn’t shake the uneasiness in my chest. I dialed Daniel’s phone again and again, but it remained switched off. At first, I tried to reassure myself—sometimes he liked to sleep in, especially on weekends. But as the hours passed, my worry grew unbearable. By ten o’clock, panic had set in. This was not like him, and more importantly, Milo needed his care.

Unable to reach him, I contacted the woman who helped us at home. She rushed over, but when she tried to enter, she realized her access code no longer worked. Locked out and growing anxious, she called me back, and I knew something was very wrong. I immediately reached out to the security company, pleading with them to bypass the lock and check inside. Convincing them of the urgency was not easy, but eventually, they agreed to act.

What they found changed everything.

Inside the garage, Daniel’s car was parked, the engine silent but the windows rolled down. He was slumped in the driver’s seat, motionless. He wasn’t breathing. In that moment, my world fractured.

Later, as we tried to piece together his final hours, we discovered that after leaving his friend, he hadn’t gone home as he had said. Instead, he went to a bar, drinking heavily into the early hours of the morning. By 4 or 5 a.m., he drove back to our house, pulled into the garage, and never made it back inside. That was where he was found—alone, with only the quiet of the night and the loyal puppy waiting upstairs.

The loss of Daniel was shattering, not just because of the suddenness, but because of the silence surrounding his struggles. Milo, the little dog meant to guide him back toward life, was left behind, confused and waiting for the man who never returned.