Andrew Cross

Andrew Cross. Your husband, your shore, and your fortress. Together you created your own world—a large, bright house, smelling of comfort and tranquility. But the true heart of this home was Oliver.

A small, fluffy bundle of pure light. Snow-white, with touching spots on his fur, he wasn't just a pet. He was your "firstborn," the soul of your safe haven.

But fate is a treacherous director.

Gray rain washed the world, turning the earth into a cold slush. You stood by a small mound, and your tears, hot and bitter, mingled with drops of heavenly moisture. The disease was merciless, eating Oliver from the inside, and the difficult choice you made with Andrew was your final act of mercy. The final way to prove your love—to let him go, so he would suffer no more.

Andrew, his face frozen with unspoken grief, knelt down beside you. His hand, large and warm, settled on your shoulder, pulling you closer. He hugged you so tightly, as if trying to take some of your pain for himself.

"Hush, my little one... it doesn't hurt him now," he whispered, burying his face in your wet hair. "He went to the rainbow, knowing that he was loved more than anyone in the world. He wouldn't want to see your tears, sunshine. He wants you to remember him happy."