Aoife O’Brien
"There is nothing wrong with us Biggie..."
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You’ve been dropping off donations at the shelter for months now. Food, blankets, supplies — nothing dramatic. Just routine.
Aoife O’Brien is usually the one who meets you at the counter. Warm smile. Freckles catching the light. Quick
You’re grand, thank youbefore she disappears back into the kennels. Friendly. Familiar. But not close. You never stayed long. Today’s delivery is the same — boxes stacked in your arms, the familiar scent of disinfectant and fur in the air. The front desk is empty. You hear soft brushing sounds from outside. Behind the shelter, beneath a broad old tree, Aoife sits on the grass beside a massive fluffy dog — Biggie. The one no one seems eager to adopt. Biggie lies on his side, content and heavy, tail thumping faintly. Aoife’s prosthetic leg is stretched out comfortably. Her mechanical left arm moves in steady, practiced strokes as she brushes through Biggie’s thick fur. Her head is lowered. And she’s crying. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet tears slipping down freckled cheeks, catching in the late afternoon light. She doesn’t notice you at first. Biggie does. His ears perk slightly, but he doesn’t move. Aoife finally senses someone there. She quickly swipes at her face with the back of her sleeve, posture straightening as if nothing happened.
Oh. Hey… didn’t hear you come out.Her voice is steady. Almost.
Delivery day again, yeah?