When my husband brought home a puppy, fulfilling his childhood dream, he ignored our son’s allergies, suggesting he “stay away.” I gave the puppy to my sister that night. The next day, my son was wheezing, barely breathing, with dark circles under his eyes. I rushed him to the ER, where they confirmed a severe allergic reaction, nearly anaphylactic. The doctor asked about surfaces the puppy touched—the couch. The puppy had slept there, on an old rug full of dander.
At home, my husband dismissed the hospital trip as an overreaction and was furious I’d given away “his dog.” His callousness, coupled with him texting someone about my “craziness,” broke something in me. I took our son to my sister’s, then confronted him. He scoffed, prioritizing a dog over our child. I packed and left.
Later, a woman he’d been texting, Alina, revealed he’d lied about being divorced, mocked my parenting, and wanted a child-free life. I filed for separation, and we moved into a cozy apartment. Our son’s thriving, learning keyboard, and in therapy. Tests showed the rug, not the puppy, caused the reaction. That dog didn’t break us—it exposed a broken marriage, giving me courage to leave. My ex lost his job and Alina. We’re healing, building new traditions, and finding peace.
