A Perfect Beginning — Or So We Thought
Before our daughter Zoey was born, life was calm. My wife, Rose, and I had been through years of fertility struggles — the endless doctor visits, the heartbreaks, the cautious hopes. When Zoey finally arrived, it felt like light had broken through after a decade of clouds.
I had always imagined I’d be the kind of dad who just helped “when needed.” But the first time I held her, I melted. Midnight feedings? I volunteered. Diaper changes? No problem. I was completely wrapped around her tiny finger.
We’d rescued Beau — a big-hearted golden retriever with honey-colored fur and eyes that always seemed to be smiling — five years earlier. He was the gentlest dog I’d ever known. He greeted every visitor like an old friend, carried socks to the laundry basket, and always nudged your hand if you stopped petting him too soon.
But the day we brought Zoey home from the hospital, something changed.
