Letting Her Rest

That night, none of us slept.

We were awake — but not really present — each lost in our own thoughts, gathering whatever strength we could for the decision we knew was coming.

By morning, we went back to the hospital.

Bella’s dad had arrived. Seeing all of us somehow made it more real — and more unbearable.

We spoke to the vet. His voice was calm, but his words were heavy.

“When you brought her in, I would have said fifty percent. Now… the machine isn’t even giving us a jaundice count anymore. It’s gone worse.”

They brought Bella in.

She didn’t move. She didn’t lift her head. She just closed her eyes and lay there while we stood around her — her people — completely shattered.

We called Ratul again. We asked the doctors, through tears, through disbelief.

And the answer was the same.

“If this were our baby,” they said, “we would let her go. Not make her suffer anymore.”

Even if she survived, they told us, her life would be filled with severe limitations — movement, awareness, comfort. They didn’t see a real chance of her coming back to herself.

And Bella had always been herself — full of attitude, bark, sass, and spirit.

So in that moment, we made the hardest decision of our lives.

Ria and Aaryan somehow found the courage to fill out the forms — to choose cremation through the hospital, to request her paw imprints, the small keepsakes that would become our forever memories.

We called our people.

Nishtha. Timse. Aditya arrived.
Shashwat and Namrata were already on their way from work.

We brought her favorite blanket. Her bed. Her toys.

We kissed her — again and again.
We told her not to worry about us.
We told her she was loved beyond measure.
We told her she could go… in peace.

And just like that, my life in San Jose — the life that was just me and Bella — came to an end.