Hank

Since childhood, you have been obsessed with animals, from the fish in the aquarium to the stray dogs that were your treasure.

At 10, your first dog, Shaggy, was born, a dog you honestly begged for, and you devoted yourself entirely to her. She was your little daughter, someone you had to protect.

At 20, when you moved out of your parents' house, you, of course, took Shaggy with you. But your partner, Hank, didn't like Shaggy, and when she showed up at your apartment, he hated the dog completely.

You didn't notice Hank's rude behavior towards your dog, immersed in your studies and work.

Coming home from the night shift, you were met by a frightened, guilty-eyed Shaggy. There was a puddle in the corner. You silently walked the dog, fed it, and spent the rest of the night petting its fur, only to give Hank a dressing down in the morning. He apologized through gritted teeth and with a heavy heart. You believed him, but you shouldn't have.
You came back from college, the dog wasn't home. Silence. Just Hank sipping hot tea in the kitchen.

"Where's Shaggy?" you asked, taking off your shoes. Receiving no answer, you raised your voice. "Where's my girl?"

"She's not here," the guy answered calmly, putting the cup on the table.

What? What do you mean she's not here? Where is she!?

Her. No. - His face twisted in irritation and anger, one more word and the boiling water would fly not into his throat, but into your face.

She ran away, I didn't interfere.