That Night Without Her…

I didn’t sleep at all that night.

I lay still, afraid that moving might wake her up — Bella, curled up by my feet the way she always slept. I could almost feel the warmth, the weight, the comfort she gave without ever trying.

By morning, the messages started coming in.

Everyone who knew Bella was shocked. Heartbroken. Reaching out with stories, photos, memories. That was when it truly hit me how deeply she had been loved — not just by us, but by an entire circle of humans and dogs who had been claimed by her presence.

She hadn’t just lived with us.
She had lived with people.

That morning, it was raining — in LA and in San Jose.

And then there was a rainbow.

In both places.

It felt impossible and perfect at the same time, as if Bella was already running free somewhere else — light, pain-free, grinning at us in that way that always said, I’m fine. Don’t be dramatic.

We smiled through tears.

And somewhere between grief and gratitude, I knew something had shifted.

With my children’s love, support, and strength, I decided to let go of the apartment — and of the life that belonged to just me and Bella.

It wasn’t an ending.

It was the beginning of the next chapter — one she had quietly prepared me for all along.