Part 5 – The Girl in the Photograph
Ruth held the photograph like it might catch fire.
She turned it over twice, then again, as if some truth might be written on the back. But it was blank—just smooth, faded paper, worn at the corners. The sticky note fluttered slightly on the table, its six printed words still sharp:
He was never meant for you.
Harper sat quietly across from her, arms wrapped around her knees, the locket rising and falling with each breath.
“Who would say something like that?” she asked.
Ruth didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she studied the picture. The child standing next to Cloud looked maybe six or seven. Pale hair pulled back tightly, her posture rigid. Her hand barely touched Cloud’s leash, but he sat beside her all the same.
He didn’t look happy in the photo. He looked resigned.
“This was taken before Mei passed,” Ruth murmured. “You can tell by Cloud’s coat—still smooth, not matted. But after the reassignment order was started.”
Harper leaned forward. “Then who is she?”
“I don’t know,” Ruth said. “But I think it’s time we found out.”
Cloud didn’t react to the photograph.
Not at first.
But when Harper held it down toward him, he sniffed it—then turned away sharply, ears flat.
“He doesn’t like her,” Harper whispered.
Ruth narrowed her eyes. “No, baby. I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he remembers her.”
Harper looked up. “Do you think she’s the one he was going to be given to?”
“I do.”
“But why did he come to me instead?”
Ruth stood, the phone already in her hand. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”
It took most of the morning to get Joy Tomlinson back on the line.
When Ruth asked about reassignment candidates from the program’s last days, Joy hesitated.
“There were only two,” she finally said. “One was a boy with severe anxiety—his parents withdrew the request after Mei got sick. The other… was a girl named Lena Vaughn.”
Harper’s ears perked up. “V?”
“Dr. V’s niece,” Joy confirmed. “He was pushing hard for her to be matched with a dog, even though she hadn’t completed the observation sessions. Mei wasn’t comfortable.”
“Why not?”
Joy sighed. “Mei said the girl didn’t treat Cloud like a companion. Treated him like… something she could control. Something to own.”
Ruth clenched the phone. “And after Mei died?”
“No one knows. Lena transferred schools. Cloud disappeared. Everyone assumed the reassignment went through.”
“But Mei never signed it,” Ruth said.
“No,” Joy said quietly. “She didn’t.”
That afternoon, Harper sat alone in her room, the photograph in her lap.
Cloud had curled beside her, but now he stirred—ears twitching, eyes locked on the window.
Harper followed his gaze.
A girl stood across the street. Same pale hair. Same stiff posture.
It was her.
Lena Vaughn.
She was older now, maybe ten or eleven, but Harper recognized her immediately.
She wasn’t watching the house.
She was watching Cloud.
Harper stepped back from the window just as Lena turned and walked away.
Cloud growled once, low in his throat, then climbed onto the bed and stared after her, unmoving.
That night, Ruth told Harper the truth.
About Dr. Hanes.
About the push to reassign Cloud against Mei’s wishes.
About the missing papers that had somehow landed in their mailbox.
Harper listened without speaking. She clutched the locket in her small hand, tighter than ever.
“Do you think she’s trying to get him back?” Harper finally asked.
“I think she’s been looking for him,” Ruth said. “And now that she knows where he is, she might try again.”
“But he came to me,” Harper said fiercely. “Not her. He came because he knew.”
“I believe you.”
Harper blinked up at her. “Then we can’t let her take him.”
“We won’t,” Ruth said. “But we need to be smart.”
She stood, pulled the folder of therapy program records from the cabinet, and began sorting.
“There’s something else going on here, baby. Something Mei saw before she passed. If we can figure out what it was… we’ll know how to protect him.”
Later that night, as Ruth sifted through old reports, Harper sat on the porch with Cloud, wrapped in a quilt. The air smelled like pine and damp earth.
The stars were out.
“Do you miss her?” Harper whispered, stroking his fur. “My mom?”
Cloud didn’t move.
But he exhaled slowly—one long breath, like memory itself.
“I think she gave you to me,” Harper said. “Even if she wasn’t here to do it out loud.”
From the bushes, a rustle.
Harper froze.
Cloud stood instantly, ears up, body tense.
A figure stepped into view at the edge of the lawn.
Lena Vaughn.
She stepped forward once. Then again.
“Harper,” she said. “I just want what’s mine.”
Harper stood, fists clenched. “He’s not yours.”
Lena’s eyes glittered. “He was assigned to me.”
“He chose me.”
Lena shook her head. “That’s not how it works. That dog was promised to me. My uncle made it official.”
“No,” Ruth’s voice came from the doorway, calm but firm. “He tried. But it was never official. Your name isn’t on a single valid adoption paper.”
Lena turned toward her. “That’s because your daughter ruined everything.”
“She protected him,” Ruth snapped. “From people who only saw him as a reward. Not a soul.”
Lena’s face twisted. “You think you’re the only one who’s sad? You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone?”
Harper took a step forward, voice trembling but steady. “You don’t get to take love just because you’re hurting.”
For a moment, the yard was quiet.
Cloud stood between them, tail low, eyes locked on Lena.
And then, without a word, she turned and disappeared into the dark.
Not running.
But not welcome, either.
The next morning, the police came.
Not because of the confrontation—but because someone had broken into Joy Tomlinson’s house the night before. Nothing stolen. Just papers scattered. Boxes rifled through.
“They were looking for something,” Joy said, shaken, as Ruth made her tea.
Harper sat silently, clutching the photograph again.
Then she noticed it—barely visible in the background.
Behind Lena and Cloud was a wall. And on that wall?
A chart.
One she recognized.
The reading progress board from Room 16.
“This was taken in my school,” she whispered. “After the program ended.”
Ruth turned. “How can you tell?”
Harper pointed. “There’s a name on the chart—Tommy G.—he didn’t join until after Mom got sick. That means the photo’s from a time Mom wasn’t there.”
Joy’s face went pale. “Then that picture was staged.”
“Worse,” Ruth said. “It was faked. To make it look like Lena and Cloud belonged together. Like they had a bond.”
“But they didn’t,” Harper said. “Cloud remembers.”
Ruth looked at her granddaughter, eyes full of fire.
“Then it’s time we helped him speak.”
