NEW BOOK

COMING SOON

Fish Die

By Vashti Stopher Klein

Sammy

The D.C. summer heat was suffocating, the humidity making the air feel as though Maddie was breathing underwater.

 

On a day like this, she’d usually stay indoors, enjoying the cool refuge of air conditioning.

 

But today was different.

The D.C. summer heat was suffocating, the humidity making the air feel as though Maddie was breathing underwater.

 

On a day like this, she’d usually stay indoors, enjoying the cool refuge of air conditioning.

 

But today was different.

Today Maddie and her friend and neighbor, Miri, were on a special mission: to buy a fish.


At five foot three and in her late fifties, Maddie maintained a certain quiet discipline in her appearance. She kept her light brown hair streaked with blond, refreshed every six weeks at the same salon where she got her French manicures. Fashion trends seemed impractical to her, so she stuck to black, professionally and casually, a small, common trick women used—not because it actually made them look thinner, but because it let them imagine it did. Maddie moved through the world that way too: controlled on the outside, but always calibrating when to keep to herself, and when to let people in. It just had to feel right.

 

Miri was tall and elegantly slender, in her mid-thirties, with warm brown eyes and a gentle voice that carried an effortless kindness. A microbiologist by profession, she approached the world with calm logic and quiet curiosity, often lacing her thoughtful observations with a hint of dry humor. She listened with the kind of patience that made people feel truly heard—and Maddie was no exception.

 

The two friends slogged down Rockville Pike, cheek to jowl in traffic, all the way to Congressional Plaza where the aquatic shop awaited. The shopping center parking area was boiling and felt like hot lava on their faces. They hurried across the lot and trotted down two flights of stairs to the store and stepped through the doorway into the cool, refreshing air of the small shop.

 

Inside, they were enveloped by a colorful array of fish—tiny darting ones, slow-moving plump goldfish, large meandering ones, all calmly sailing through their underwater oasis, oblivious to the furnace outside.

Today Maddie and her friend and neighbor, Miri, were on a special mission: to buy a fish.


At five foot three and in her late fifties, Maddie maintained a certain quiet discipline in her appearance. She kept her light brown hair streaked with blond, refreshed every six weeks at the same salon where she got her French manicures. Fashion trends seemed impractical to her, so she stuck to black, professionally and casually, a small, common trick women used—not because it actually made them look thinner, but because it let them imagine it did. Maddie moved through the world that way too: controlled on the outside, but always calibrating when to keep to herself, and when to let people in. It just had to feel right.

 

Miri was tall and elegantly slender, in her mid-thirties, with warm brown eyes and a gentle voice that carried an effortless kindness. A microbiologist by profession, she approached the world with calm logic and quiet curiosity, often lacing her thoughtful observations with a hint of dry humor. She listened with the kind of patience that made people feel truly heard—and Maddie was no exception.

 

The two friends slogged down Rockville Pike, cheek to jowl in traffic, all the way to Congressional Plaza where the aquatic shop awaited. The shopping center parking area was boiling and felt like hot lava on their faces. They hurried across the lot and trotted down two flights of stairs to the store and stepped through the doorway into the cool, refreshing air of the small shop.

 

Inside, they were enveloped by a colorful array of fish—tiny darting ones, slow-moving plump goldfish, large meandering ones, all calmly sailing through their underwater oasis, oblivious to the furnace outside.

Glass jars on shelves were stacked in multiple rows and displayed an assortment of Betta fish, each meditating in their small worlds.

Glass jars on shelves were stacked in multiple rows and displayed an assortment of Betta fish, each meditating in their small worlds.

It was like stepping into Maddie’s favorite childhood book, McElligott’s Pool, by Dr. Seuss—a tribute to imagination that, though later perceived as flawed in its depiction of indigenous peoples, had been a guiding inspiration all her life.

 

As a child, and well into adulthood before the controversy, Maddie had only seen the book’s wild, whimsical wonder and its message that the world could hold more than anyone could possibly fathom:

It was like stepping into Maddie’s favorite childhood book, McElligott’s Pool, by Dr. Seuss—a tribute to imagination that, though later perceived as flawed in its depiction of indigenous peoples, had been a guiding inspiration all her life.

 

As a child, and well into adulthood before the controversy, Maddie had only seen the book’s wild, whimsical wonder and its message that the world could hold more than anyone could possibly fathom:

"I might catch a fish
with a pinwheel
like tail!

"I might catch a fish
with a pinwheel
like tail!

I might catch a fish

 Who has fins like

a sail!

I might catch some young fish

 some high jumping

friskers.

I might catch a fish

 Who has fins like

a sail!

I might catch some young fish

 some high jumping

friskers.

I might catch an old one
with long, flowing
whiskers!"

I might catch an old one
with long, flowing
whiskers!"

But she was in new territory now—before today, her heart had only ever belonged to dogs.

 

Miri and her husband Melaku, originally from Ethiopia, quickly became dear friends with Maddie and her husband, Frank, after moving into the neighborhood. Melaku was of medium build, with a generous spirit and a smile for everyone he met. He worked as a design engineer and owned a business close to home.

 

Maddie often saw him through her kitchen window while she washed dishes—usually he was chatting with the other men on the block, always ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. His smile was the kind that was bright and kind and put you at ease immediately.

 

As summer progressed, Maddie and Miri would sit indoors and chat where it was cool as they watched Miri’s young boys play with Maddie’s Cairn terrier, Gracie, whom they adored.

 

The boys were polite, friendly, intellectually curious, exceptionally athletic, and naturally competitive with each other, the younger one wanting to keep up with his older brother. Miri managed them with her calm energy and sense of humor. Theirs was a loving, close family and Maddie loved being around them.


Each spring, Melaku would come over to help Frank till Maddie’s garden. The scene became a familiar ritual: Melaku managing the stubborn rototiller while Frank, ever the supervisor, offered pointers and kept a vigilant watch.


Frank was considerably older than Melaku—and sixteen years Maddie’s senior, for that matter. His impatience with the world likely stemmed from a singular intelligence and photographic mind calibrated to exactness, which left him perpetually frustrated by the looseness with which most people moved through life. At five foot nine, he didn’t tower over others, but you wouldn’t miss him in a crowded ballroom.


Afterward, they’d drink beer, and Melaku would smile and say, “This will be our ritual every year!”


The two men shared a special bond—something like a father and son. Frank’s age and blunt manner reminded Melaku of his older relatives back home, giving him an understanding of Frank that few others shared. Frank loved taking Melaku flying in his Cessna—an experience they both found exhilarating.

But she was in new territory now—before today, her heart had only ever belonged to dogs.

 

Miri and her husband Melaku, originally from Ethiopia, quickly became dear friends with Maddie and her husband, Frank, after moving into the neighborhood. Melaku was of medium build, with a generous spirit and a smile for everyone he met. He worked as a design engineer and owned a business close to home.

 

Maddie often saw him through her kitchen window while she washed dishes—usually he was chatting with the other men on the block, always ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. His smile was the kind that was bright and kind and put you at ease immediately.

 

As summer progressed, Maddie and Miri would sit indoors and chat where it was cool as they watched Miri’s young boys play with Maddie’s Cairn terrier, Gracie, whom they adored.

 

The boys were polite, friendly, intellectually curious, exceptionally athletic, and naturally competitive with each other, the younger one wanting to keep up with his older brother. Miri managed them with her calm energy and sense of humor. Theirs was a loving, close family and Maddie loved being around them.


Each spring, Melaku would come over to help Frank till Maddie’s garden. The scene became a familiar ritual: Melaku managing the stubborn rototiller while Frank, ever the supervisor, offered pointers and kept a vigilant watch.


Frank was considerably older than Melaku—and sixteen years Maddie’s senior, for that matter. His impatience with the world likely stemmed from a singular intelligence and photographic mind calibrated to exactness, which left him perpetually frustrated by the looseness with which most people moved through life. At five foot nine, he didn’t tower over others, but you wouldn’t miss him in a crowded ballroom.


Afterward, they’d drink beer, and Melaku would smile and say, “This will be our ritual every year!”


The two men shared a special bond—something like a father and son. Frank’s age and blunt manner reminded Melaku of his older relatives back home, giving him an understanding of Frank that few others shared. Frank loved taking Melaku flying in his Cessna—an experience they both found exhilarating.

At five foot nine, he didn't tower over the others,

but you wouldn't miss him in a crowded ballroom.

At five foot nine, he didn't tower over the others, but you wouldn't miss him in a crowded ballroom.

At five foot nine, he didn't tower over the others,

but you wouldn't miss him in a crowded ballroom.

The previous summer, Gracie, who was fifteen and fragile, had been facing the challenges of pancreatitis and diabetes. Maddie cared for her gently, navigating her medications and doing her best to keep Gracie comfortable.

 

Her eyesight was nearly gone, so Maddie would carry her outside, laying a blanket in the yard where they’d sit together in the sun. At times, Gracie, with her brindle coat

The previous summer, Gracie, who was fifteen and fragile, had been facing the challenges of pancreatitis and diabetes. Maddie cared for her gently, navigating her medications and doing her best to keep Gracie comfortable.

 

Her eyesight was nearly gone, so Maddie would carry her outside, laying a blanket in the yard where they’d sit together in the sun. At times, Gracie, with her brindle coat

That changed colors with the seasons, would still pace the familiar path by the country fence, somehow finding her way.

Occasionally, she would rally for a few weeks, which gave Maddie and Frank a flicker of hope, though deep down, they sensed it might be short-lived. And as each day revealed the quiet decline of Gracie’s health, Maddie’s heart broke a little. Yet beneath the sorrow, she felt grateful to be sharing what she knew were their final days together.

 

Inevitably the final day arrived. Gracie had another pancreatitis attack, and they hurriedly took her to the vet who said she could put her on fluids “forever,” but gently said it would be pointless, and unkind to do so. There was nothing further to be done.


Fifteen years.


It’s hard to explain what it means to spend fifteen years with a creature as loving and selfless as a dog. Maddie had raised Gracie from eight weeks old; she had been there through every season of Maddie’s life and marriage. She comforted her through illness and sorrow, greeted her with joy that never faded, and offered complete trust asking for nothing in return. Letting go of Gracie wasn’t something Maddie knew how to do—it was something she knew she simply had to somehow survive.


As Maddie held Gracie at the vet hospital, memories came flooding back—the first day her wobbly little furry legs made it up the stairs on her own, her sweet puppy face beaming with pride. The first time she ran free in the backyard, tail high, nose to the ground, sniffing every blade of grass and corner of her new kingdom.


Or the time Frank took her fishing with him, and while he painstakingly used the cotton balls and salmon juice bait he’d made to catch catfish, Gracie sat nearby with that smiley face dogs have when they're thrilled to be on an adventure with Dad. When Maddie saw the bait, her eyes widened. "Cotton balls, Frank? Are you trying to choke the fish to death?"


Frank took his little sidekick everywhere—errands, road trips, even to buy office supplies. He’d plop her in a cart, her front paws perched on the edge, surveying the world. The clerks at Staples knew her by name:


“Hey Gracie! Whatcha doing today?” a clerk would call.


Gracie would wag her tail excitedly at everyone, thrilled to be there.


There was the time Frank was caught sneaking her up the back stairs to his office. He’d tuck her under his arm like a football, and if he passed anyone, would try to act like she wasn’t there. Once he ran into the building manager, who looked at Frank’s sheepish face and said simply, “Frank, we know you have a dog.” Then, patting her on the head, added with a grin, “Hi Gracie!” and continued up the stairs. 

Frank clutched her like a bag of money he’d just stolen from a bank, shock still in his eyes. The manager even knew her name!


The great irony, of course, was that Maddie had been the one who wanted a dog. Frank had said “absolutely not.”


Maddie was crushed hearing this but the next day she countered “are you saying that for the rest of our lives, I can’t have a dog?”


Frank reiterated, “I just don’t think we can manage it now.”


“Don’t worry, I’ll take total care of her!” Maddie promised.


Frank still objected.


So, over the next couple of months, while Maddie researched dogs, she began leaving clues to help Frank warm up to the idea: first a leash, then about a month later, a halter.


“What’s that?” he’d ask.


“That’s for the dog.”
 
“What dog?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
 
“Our dog.” She smiled.


“We don’t have a dog,” he said matter-of-factly.


“We will soon,” she replied in a sing-song voice.


He’d grumble and go back to whatever he was doing, clearly annoyed.


But fate had its own timing. The day Maddie brought Gracie home, she and Frank happened to pull into the parking lot at the same time. Maddie got out holding Gracie, a wiggly, wide-eyed eight-week-old bundle of puppy. Frank took one look and melted.


“Ohhh, she’s so small,” he whispered.

 

He carried her upstairs, lay down on the floor to play with her, and within minutes, she curled close to his chest and they both fell asleep.

 

From that moment on, they were inseparable.


That was fifteen years ago; and now the end had come. The vet gently explained the procedure, the needle with the fatal drug, the way Gracie might lurch after it was administered.

 

Maddie cradled her baby’s small, warm body in her arms, stroking her as she had so many times throughout her life. The injection was given in her paw and Gracie moved slightly. 
 
Moments later, that sweet creature took her final breath.
 

Maddie was inconsolable; Frank stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder, steady but distant. It was as if he feared that touching Gracie in her final moment might shatter something inside him beyond repair. Gracie held Frank and Maddie together in ways they barely understood—which, before long, became achingly clear.

 

A year later, Frank and Maddie quietly decided to live separately, for all the quiet, complicated reasons couples do. Maddie was even more heartbroken, with the  emptiness of their home suddenly magnified, despite the fact that the decision was hers. 
 

Autumn in Maryland arrived as if a painter had slipped on a rock while hiking and spilled his palette across the mountains. Splashes of gold, bursts of crimson maples, and fleeting shades of orange and yellow from the oaks were sprinkled throughout the slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Cars climbed the winding roads, in slow, breathy lines, a joyful ritual of passage, a kind of shared gratitude for the incomparable beauty of the leaves.

 

The heavy humidity of summer had finally lifted, replaced by crisp, clean air that felt like a gift to thankful lungs. It was always a glorious last hurrah before winter’s bite, and Maddie savored it.

 

But as the days grew shorter, the loss of the light deepened her grief. The cold was coming. And she would be alone.

 

Soon it was November. The shivering night was dark and rainy as Maddie returned home late after dinner with friends. The streets glistened from a storm that had knocked out power in her neighborhood, leaving the house pitch black.

 

Maddie hesitated at the door, uneasy about stepping into the silent, shadowy darkness. She called Melaku and Miri. Miri was asleep, but Melaku had just hung up after calming Betty down, the panicked single woman across the street.

 

“Everyone turns to Melaku,” Maddie thought smiling to herself.

 

He said to come over and sit with him and his sleepy children until the lights came back on. Maddie was grateful for his kindness.

 

As summer wore on, Miri began to sense Maddie’s loneliness and started inviting her out—for lunch, coffee, or dinner. Maddie loved those outings. She and Miri shared stories from their lives and grew even closer.

 

One afternoon, as they sipped their coffee at the nearby Starbucks, Miri fell unusually quiet. The usual hum of conversation around them, orders being called out, chairs scraping, people reuniting, seemed to fade as Maddie glanced up, noticing her friend’s thoughtful look.

 

“Is everything ok?” Maddie asked. “I was just thinking...perhaps it’s time you got another dog?” Miri said gently.

 

"Ohhh,” Maddie let it sink in slowly. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,"


“Then maybe...a fish?” Miri offered with a warm smile.


Maddie raised an eyebrow “A fish?”

 

“A fish is fairly simple to take care of” Miri said matter-of-factly. “They’re beautiful to watch, peaceful. Not as demanding as a dog,”

 

Maddie was intrigued by the idea, and gradually relented. “You know, why not!”

 

And so it was, that on this scorching summer day, the two friends made the trip to the fish store in Congressional Plaza. 

 

Aquatic stores, a kind of hardware store with animals, have lots of mysterious paraphernalia to the uninitiated. And Maddie was definitely uninitiated. 

That changed colors with the seasons, would still pace the familiar path by the country fence, somehow finding her way.

Occasionally, she would rally for a few weeks, which gave Maddie and Frank a flicker of hope, though deep down, they sensed it might be short-lived. And as each day revealed the quiet decline of Gracie’s health, Maddie’s heart broke a little. Yet beneath the sorrow, she felt grateful to be sharing what she knew were their final days together.

 

Inevitably the final day arrived. Gracie had another pancreatitis attack, and they hurriedly took her to the vet who said she could put her on fluids “forever,” but gently said it would be pointless, and unkind to do so. There was nothing further to be done.


Fifteen years.


It’s hard to explain what it means to spend fifteen years with a creature as loving and selfless as a dog. Maddie had raised Gracie from eight weeks old; she had been there through every season of Maddie’s life and marriage. She comforted her through illness and sorrow, greeted her with joy that never faded, and offered complete trust asking for nothing in return. Letting go of Gracie wasn’t something Maddie knew how to do—it was something she knew she simply had to somehow survive.


As Maddie held Gracie at the vet hospital, memories came flooding back—the first day her wobbly little furry legs made it up the stairs on her own, her sweet puppy face beaming with pride. The first time she ran free in the backyard, tail high, nose to the ground, sniffing every blade of grass and corner of her new kingdom.


Or the time Frank took her fishing with him, and while he painstakingly used the cotton balls and salmon juice bait he’d made to catch catfish, Gracie sat nearby with that smiley face dogs have when they're thrilled to be on an adventure with Dad. When Maddie saw the bait, her eyes widened. "Cotton balls, Frank? Are you trying to choke the fish to death?"


Frank took his little sidekick everywhere—errands, road trips, even to buy office supplies. He’d plop her in a cart, her front paws perched on the edge, surveying the world. The clerks at Staples knew her by name:


“Hey Gracie! Whatcha doing today?” a clerk would call.


Gracie would wag her tail excitedly at everyone, thrilled to be there.


There was the time Frank was caught sneaking her up the back stairs to his office. He’d tuck her under his arm like a football, and if he passed anyone, would try to act like she wasn’t there. Once he ran into the building manager, who looked at Frank’s sheepish face and said simply, “Frank, we know you have a dog.” Then, patting her on the head, added with a grin, “Hi Gracie!” and continued up the stairs. 

Frank clutched her like a bag of money he’d just stolen from a bank, shock still in his eyes. The manager even knew her name!


The great irony, of course, was that Maddie had been the one who wanted a dog. Frank had said “absolutely not.”


Maddie was crushed hearing this but the next day she countered “are you saying that for the rest of our lives, I can’t have a dog?”


Frank reiterated, “I just don’t think we can manage it now.”


“Don’t worry, I’ll take total care of her!” Maddie promised.


Frank still objected.


So, over the next couple of months, while Maddie researched dogs, she began leaving clues to help Frank warm up to the idea: first a leash, then about a month later, a halter.


“What’s that?” he’d ask.


“That’s for the dog.”
 
“What dog?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
 
“Our dog.” She smiled.


“We don’t have a dog,” he said matter-of-factly.


“We will soon,” she replied in a sing-song voice.


He’d grumble and go back to whatever he was doing, clearly annoyed.


But fate had its own timing. The day Maddie brought Gracie home, she and Frank happened to pull into the parking lot at the same time. Maddie got out holding Gracie, a wiggly, wide-eyed eight-week-old bundle of puppy. Frank took one look and melted.


“Ohhh, she’s so small,” he whispered.

 

He carried her upstairs, lay down on the floor to play with her, and within minutes, she curled close to his chest and they both fell asleep.

 

From that moment on, they were inseparable.


That was fifteen years ago; and now the end had come. The vet gently explained the procedure, the needle with the fatal drug, the way Gracie might lurch after it was administered.

 

Maddie cradled her baby’s small, warm body in her arms, stroking her as she had so many times throughout her life. The injection was given in her paw and Gracie moved slightly. 
 
Moments later, that sweet creature took her final breath.
 

Maddie was inconsolable; Frank stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder, steady but distant. It was as if he feared that touching Gracie in her final moment might shatter something inside him beyond repair. Gracie held Frank and Maddie together in ways they barely understood—which, before long, became achingly clear.

 

A year later, Frank and Maddie quietly decided to live separately, for all the quiet, complicated reasons couples do. Maddie was even more heartbroken, with the  emptiness of their home suddenly magnified, despite the fact that the decision was hers. 
 

Autumn in Maryland arrived as if a painter had slipped on a rock while hiking and spilled his palette across the mountains. Splashes of gold, bursts of crimson maples, and fleeting shades of orange and yellow from the oaks were sprinkled throughout the slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Cars climbed the winding roads, in slow, breathy lines, a joyful ritual of passage, a kind of shared gratitude for the incomparable beauty of the leaves.

 

The heavy humidity of summer had finally lifted, replaced by crisp, clean air that felt like a gift to thankful lungs. It was always a glorious last hurrah before winter’s bite, and Maddie savored it.

 

But as the days grew shorter, the loss of the light deepened her grief. The cold was coming. And she would be alone.

 

Soon it was November. The shivering night was dark and rainy as Maddie returned home late after dinner with friends. The streets glistened from a storm that had knocked out power in her neighborhood, leaving the house pitch black.

 

Maddie hesitated at the door, uneasy about stepping into the silent, shadowy darkness. She called Melaku and Miri. Miri was asleep, but Melaku had just hung up after calming Betty down, the panicked single woman across the street.

 

“Everyone turns to Melaku,” Maddie thought smiling to herself.

 

He said to come over and sit with him and his sleepy children until the lights came back on. Maddie was grateful for his kindness.

 

As summer wore on, Miri began to sense Maddie’s loneliness and started inviting her out—for lunch, coffee, or dinner. Maddie loved those outings. She and Miri shared stories from their lives and grew even closer.

 

One afternoon, as they sipped their coffee at the nearby Starbucks, Miri fell unusually quiet. The usual hum of conversation around them, orders being called out, chairs scraping, people reuniting, seemed to fade as Maddie glanced up, noticing her friend’s thoughtful look.

 

“Is everything ok?” Maddie asked. “I was just thinking...perhaps it’s time you got another dog?” Miri said gently.

 

"Ohhh,” Maddie let it sink in slowly. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,"


“Then maybe...a fish?” Miri offered with a warm smile.


Maddie raised an eyebrow “A fish?”

 

“A fish is fairly simple to take care of” Miri said matter-of-factly. “They’re beautiful to watch, peaceful. Not as demanding as a dog,”

 

Maddie was intrigued by the idea, and gradually relented. “You know, why not!”

 

And so it was, that on this scorching summer day, the two friends made the trip to the fish store in Congressional Plaza. 

 

Aquatic stores, a kind of hardware store with animals, have lots of mysterious paraphernalia to the uninitiated. And Maddie was definitely uninitiated. 

She and Miri meandered through the aisles, a virtual jungle of accessories, searching for “the” fish.

 

They came upon a young attendant, shirt rumpled, and face glistening from the arduous task of climbing ladders and fetching fish out of tanks.

 

Miri asked all the intelligent questions as Maddie stood next to her, dumbly. The clerk directed them to the tree-shaped wall of tumblers, each with a Bettafish waiting to be rescued. Maddie was intrigued though she thought they looked a little sad as they hovered motionless. The soft bubbling of the fish tanks surrounded them, and a faint, unidentifiable scent lingered in the air.

 

She slowly placed her finger on the side of one of the cups, startling a few of the fish who quickly darted away—though not far...

 

A beautiful, burnt-orange Betta swam straight to her fingertip. And like Signora Placido, in Under the Tuscan Sun, who cries, “It’s a sign! It’s a sign!” after a pigeon leaves an unceremonious deposit on Frances’s head, Maddie took it as exactly that—a sign.

 

They were meant to be together.

 

She happily chose the friendly little creature, feeling quietly proud of herself for even being there.

 

Miri treated for the fish, and they cheerfully walked to Maddie’s car, as she gingerly held him in his little plastic bag. They coasted home, in high spirits, traffic having dissipated. Once home, Maddie felt like a sous chef, though, of course, they weren’t cooking the fish.

 

Miri, ever the capable scientist, knew exactly what to do. She expertly set up the tank, measured out the water conditioner, adjusted the filter, and, most crucially, transferred the fish from the bag to the tank without sending either the fish, or Maddie, into shock. She handled it all with calm precision and effortless skill.

 

Maddie hadn’t decided on a name for her fish yet preferring to wait until she got to know him a little better. Her theory was that anyone who has a pet knows the pet will at some point, introduce themselves telepathically, the right name becoming obvious simply because nothing else fits.


Apparently, this applied to fish as well, because the moment they connected, he seemed to say: Hello, I’m Sammy. 

 

Sammy had beautiful copper fins that were so fine when he flared, that it was like a paintbrush. The shades of deep red were as exquisitely nuanced as a sunset, and his fins glided gracefully through the water, propelling him around the tank.

 

From the beginning it seemed he and Maddie were a good fit; Sammy didn’t need walking in the morning and evening, grooming, require copious amounts of expensive food, or visits to the vet for shots. There were no late-night, emotionally- charged conversations that went nowhere. No expectations. No disappointments. All Sammy needed each day was a few tiny pellets of food and a clean tank. And he was company. It was just enough.

 

He actually looked happy to be in his new home, if swim speed is any indicator. He swam gloriously around his new, huge castle. Miri came over and helped Maddie change the water in the tank, an activity which continued to terrify her.

 

Sammy had plastic plants; there was no way Maddie was going to buy live plants that would have to be monitored and replaced before disintegrating in the tank. The fish store advised that while plastic plants were fine, it was good to get something Sammy could hide in if he wanted to because they’re accustomed to hiding in rice paddies. So, Maddie bought the big tree stump decoration with fake plants, a pink bush, and a pink flower. Sammy loved the flower from the start. He curled up and took naps inside it.

 

Sammy was a happy, happy little fish. He doodled around exploring his “McTank” each day. He visited his tree stump, which he loved to swim in and hide. After a while it was plain from his darting around, and sleeping in his flower, that he could barely remember his humble beginnings in the small plastic cup in the fish store.

 

Maddie fed Sammy as instructed – a couple of pebbles in the morning and at night. She read that Bettafish were fighting fish and preferred to live alone. It’s not even a good idea to leave a male and female together for long even when they are mating, because the male will attack. Maddie wasn’t sure what, if any, fish-human parallels were there; she was just relieved not to have all that guilt about Sammy being lonely. He was good all by himself.

 

Living with Sammy and caring for him was so easy, compared to living with a dog. All Maddie had to do was feed him in the morning and at night and regularly clean out his tank. Each evening, she’d turn off the lights, saying “Good night little Sammy,” and that was it. Given all she’d been through during the previous year, it was as much as she could manage.

 

Since Sammy was Maddie’s first fish, she didn’t know what to expect. What she least expected was to become emotionally bonded to him…a fish…but she did.

 

Each morning Maddie would come down the stairs in her moose pajamas and peek around the corner into the peaceful living room where morning light filtered through the white bamboo shades. She’d shuffle over to Sammy in her furry slippers.

 

“Good morning, little Sammy, are you hungry yet? What’ve you been up to, hm?”

 

And like clockwork, he’d swim up to the top of the water to greet her.

 

“Here you go, little guy,” she’d say as she sprinkled in just enough fish food for her tiny pet.


“Not too much! “

       

The colorful flakes of red, orange, and green fish food sparkled under the lights of the fish tank and Sammy looked like a rainbow swimming and dancing beneath them.

 

Maddie soon learned Sammy liked to sleep in, and while she prepared her breakfast, she’d occasionally peek around the kitchen door at the stillness of his tank. When she saw him swimming gloriously around, she knew it was time to feed him.

 

Afterward, she’d wash her breakfast dishes, pack her lunch, get ready for work, and always, always, take one last look at his tank before hurrying out the door.

 

”Bye Sammy!” she’d call as she ran out the door.

 

A friend at work told Maddie that if a Bettafish gets spooked, they will jump out of their tanks. So, she would always add, "Stay in the tank!”

 

Before long, Maddie became quite adept at cleaning Sammy’s tank. Cleaning fish gunk off those little pink bushes, however, wasn’t for the fainthearted; spraying them with water did absolutely nothing so she had to wipe off each little blade. Eye roll.

 

“Seriously, Sammy, can’t you find another spot in there?” she muttered. 


Later, her coworker, suggested Maddie get a snail to keep the tank clean—apparently snails are natural house cleaners.
 

And that is how it was that George came to live with them, well, with Sammy.

Sammy and George

It did seem as if Sammy was annoyed with George from the start; he wasn’t exactly consulted about whether or not he wanted a roommate, but Maddie assumed they would eventually settle in.


George was quite small, with a deep purple hue, and long tentacles, which, to be honest,

It did seem as if Sammy was annoyed with George from the start; he wasn’t exactly consulted about whether or not he wanted a roommate, but Maddie assumed they would eventually settle in.


George was quite small, with a deep purple hue, and long tentacles, which, to be honest, Maddie hadn’t really noticed when she bought him. Like Sammy, George revealed his name to her almost immediately. They took one look at each other and Maddie instantly knew his name was George. He had that down-to-earth Taurus energy. George would bring order to Sammy’s world.

 

When Maddie placed George in the tank, he floated down gracefully, immediately catching Sammy’s attention. Sammy swam up curiously, circling George, giving what could only be described as a fish-like sniff, like a dog greeting another dog. He didn’t seem to do much else.

 

Maddie, pleased with herself for bringing George into their lives as the official tank-cleaner, was oblivious to the drama that would soon unfold within those glass walls.
 
Each day Maddie checked on Sammy and George to see what they were up to. She noticed that George often made himself scarce, sometimes vanishing so completely, she thought he’d packed up and moved out. How do you lose a snail in a fish tank? she’d mutter to herself, peering into the tank from every angle.

 

“George? George? Seriously? Where the...Ah, there you are!”


And suddenly he would appear.

 

Maddie didn’t have to feed George because he was supposedly there to, you know, clean the tank. As far as she could tell, Sammy didn’t seem to care one way or the other about George. All in all, Maddie felt like she was turning out to be a damn fine fish mom.


One day, during one of her now-regular pet store visits, Maddie passed the tank with the snails; most had long, unmistakable tentacles. Brow furrowed, she turned to the same rumpled shirt, shiny-faced pet store guy, and said,

 

“Hey, do all snails have tentacles like that? “


“Yes, they do,” he said. “That’s where their eyes are.”


“Really, eyes?” she said showing her complete ignorance as she contemplated what he was saying.


“I have a snail in my betta tank and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have tentacles” she countered.

“Well, it’s entirely possible your Bettafish has been nibbling at your snail’s tentacles…attacking him…and has broken them off. Mine did that,” he replied matter-of-factly.
 

“What? My Bettafish is eating my snail’s tentacles!?” Maddie was horrified. “Eww!! My snail is now fumbling around in there blind?”


“Likely so,” fish guy responded. “Sorry, It’s a jungle in there.”

 

Maddie rushed home and hurried straight for the tank, her shoes clicking across the vinyl floors. She flung her purse on the sofa and peered closely at George’s shell; no tentacles in sight. They would be sticking out, right? A chill crept over her as she suddenly realized George had not moved for a very long time. In fact, Maddie couldn’t recall the last time she had seen him in a different part of the tank.

 

She grabbed the fish net, gently tapping George’s shell with the handle. In slow motion, it tipped over and floated to the surface. It was …empty.


George was not in there. At all.


Maddie felt sick. Sammy murdered George. And ate him. Wow. You think you know someone.

 

Poor George; no place to hide. I should have known, she thought, heart sinking. Stuck in there with that fiend, Sammy, nipping away at his tentacles every day. She felt responsible.
 

Surprisingly, notwithstanding the magnitude of the catastrophe, after all, a family member had died, Maddie and Sammy soon moved on, settling back into their morning and evening routine: Maddie hurrying to work, then back home; walking over to Sammy’s tank and tapping lightly until he swam over to sniff her finger. 

Maddie hadn’t really noticed when she bought him. Like Sammy, George revealed his name to her almost immediately. They took one look at each other and Maddie instantly knew his name was George. He had that down-to-earth Taurus energy. George would bring order to Sammy’s world.

 

When Maddie placed George in the tank, he floated down gracefully, immediately catching Sammy’s attention. Sammy swam up curiously, circling George, giving what could only be described as a fish-like sniff, like a dog greeting another dog. He didn’t seem to do much else.

 

Maddie, pleased with herself for bringing George into their lives as the official tank-cleaner, was oblivious to the drama that would soon unfold within those glass walls.
 
Each day Maddie checked on Sammy and George to see what they were up to. She noticed that George often made himself scarce, sometimes vanishing so completely, she thought he’d packed up and moved out. How do you lose a snail in a fish tank? she’d mutter to herself, peering into the tank from every angle.

 

“George? George? Seriously? Where the...Ah, there you are!”


And suddenly he would appear.

 

Maddie didn’t have to feed George because he was supposedly there to, you know, clean the tank. As far as she could tell, Sammy didn’t seem to care one way or the other about George. All in all, Maddie felt like she was turning out to be a damn fine fish mom.


One day, during one of her now-regular pet store visits, Maddie passed the tank with the snails; most had long, unmistakable tentacles. Brow furrowed, she turned to the same rumpled shirt, shiny-faced pet store guy, and said,

 

“Hey, do all snails have tentacles like that? “


“Yes, they do,” he said. “That’s where their eyes are.”


“Really, eyes?” she said showing her complete ignorance as she contemplated what he was saying.


“I have a snail in my betta tank and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have tentacles” she countered.

“Well, it’s entirely possible your Bettafish has been nibbling at your snail’s tentacles…attacking him…and has broken them off. Mine did that,” he replied matter-of-factly.
 

“What? My Bettafish is eating my snail’s tentacles!?” Maddie was horrified. “Eww!! My snail is now fumbling around in there blind?”


“Likely so,” fish guy responded. “Sorry, It’s a jungle in there.”

 

Maddie rushed home and hurried straight for the tank, her shoes clicking across the vinyl floors. She flung her purse on the sofa and peered closely at George’s shell; no tentacles in sight. They would be sticking out, right? A chill crept over her as she suddenly realized George had not moved for a very long time. In fact, Maddie couldn’t recall the last time she had seen him in a different part of the tank.

 

She grabbed the fish net, gently tapping George’s shell with the handle. In slow motion, it tipped over and floated to the surface. It was …empty.


George was not in there. At all.


Maddie felt sick. Sammy murdered George. And ate him. Wow. You think you know someone.

 

Poor George; no place to hide. I should have known, she thought, heart sinking. Stuck in there with that fiend, Sammy, nipping away at his tentacles every day. She felt responsible.
 

Surprisingly, notwithstanding the magnitude of the catastrophe, after all, a family member had died, Maddie and Sammy soon moved on, settling back into their morning and evening routine: Maddie hurrying to work, then back home; walking over to Sammy’s tank and tapping lightly until he swam over to sniff her finger. 

George was not in there. At all.

She had to admit, she still loved watching him glide joyfully around, little scumbag murderer that he was.

 

Then it was dinner for both of them, time to wind down, and lights out. Maddie would whisper, “Sweet dreams, Sammy,” before heading upstairs to bed. Life with Sammy was peaceful, and most importantly, manageable. She was caring for another living creature again. Ok, one less. But it was the right balance.

 

As for his lethal tendencies...well, Maddie couldn’t help but recall the line from, The Lion in Winter, when the king threatens to kill their son and Katherine Hepburn (as Eleanor of Aquitaine) dryly muses “What family doesn’t have its ups and downs?”

 

Indeed.

 

“I could never stay mad at you Sammy,” Maddie sighed one day as she watched him glide effortlessly through his perfectly sized tank, his tail swishing with quiet elegance. She never imagined a fish could be endearing.

 

He loved his pink plastic flower, curling up in there like it was the coziest place in the world--perfectly content, so innocent. He made her smile.

 

“You’re too sweet, Sammy.”

So, the months passed by for Sammy and Maddie…marked by their comforting rituals.
 
Theirs was a loving, peaceful co-existence.

 

Until...one day...something was off. Sammy was swimming on his side.


Maddie crouched down beside the tank, concern rising in her chest.
 
“What’s going on little guy? Why are you swimming like that?”
 
Maddie had no idea what was wrong. After some frantic searching, she learned he might be constipated from too much food. But she’d been feeding him as instructed! To her surprise, she discovered that a Bettafish stomach is the size of its eye, and Sammy’s eye was tiny!

 

Apparently shiny fish store guy had ill-informed her about how much to feed him.

 

Realizing she’d been overfeeding him, she turned to the Google Gods for guidance. They advised fasting Sammy for a few days, and then giving him a single, miraculous cure: one-quarter of a pea—nature’s laxative for a fish.  

 

So, Maddie waited a day and let Sammy fast. Then she pulled a frozen pea from the bag in the freezer and carefully cut it into fourths. We are certainly dealing with a tiny world here, she thought dryly. She knew If it didn’t work the first time, she’d have to try again.

 

It didn’t work.

 

Ok, one pea, in fourths. How ridiculous is this. 

 

Frustrated, she returned to the fish store. They gave her the same instructions. Helpful, but not so hopeful. Back home, she Googled again and discovered a host of new possibilities: swim bladder disease, a chronic condition that causes fish to float on their sides—sometimes permanently. But, as the article reassured, “they are fine and don’t have to be euthanized.”

 

Euthanized? Maddie blinked, darkly amused. Would the aquavet come to the house with some kind of tiny fish needle? The fear of losing him was beginning to make her angry.

 

Although Maddie worried Sammy might be suffering, the idea that he could be ok, even while swimming sideways, however strange, somehow eased her fear of something worse.

 

So, Sammy swam on his side for a couple of weeks. But soon, his eating grew erratic, and he began lingering around the filter more often. He seemed lethargic.

 

Panicked, Maddie rushed back to the fish store for help.

 

“He’s hanging around the filter?” the fish store guy shook his head sadly. “That’s not good,” he added.
 
He handed her an antibiotic to add to Sammy’s tank water. Maddie hurried home hoping for the best but dreading what might come next.

 

And the worst was coming. Distraught and helpless. With no aquatic vet to turn to, she clung to the fish store’s advice and braced herself for the end.

 

That afternoon, Sammy grew too weak to swim to the top for air. Maddie sensed the end was near and gently scooped him into a glass with the tank water, so the distance to the surface wouldn’t be so far. She added the antibiotic drops and prayed for a miracle.


“Hang in there, little guy.”


Her heart sank.

 

That evening, as Maddie sat at her dining room table, watching the golden sun sink in the sky behind the trees in her backyard, little Sammy swam to the top of the cup for his last breath of air, and died.

 

This beautiful, happy little bronze soldier was inexplicably gone. Even Maddie’s love couldn’t save him.


The moment when hope vanishes is so quiet, and so dark.

 

In the stillness of the evening, she carried him into the backyard where two cement Asian statues stood amidst her English ivy.
 

She wanted to honor his sweet little life and all the joy he brought her.

 

One of them was a soldier, who introduced himself as Lau, as garden sculptures are also prone to do. Maddie believed Lau radiated protective spiritual energy over the backyard, which seemed to be working, since nothing terrible had ever happened back there, she told herself.

 

Nearby, Buddha smiled contentedly from his place among the ivy, exuding a peaceful presence that seemed perfectly right for Sammy’s final resting place. And most importantly, he wouldn’t be alone.

 

Maddie gently wrapped his tiny body in a paper towel and laid him in a small hole in front of Buddha, the earth soft and still around them.

You were such a beautiful fish, Sammy; you brought me immense joy during a time of great sadness.
 
I’m so grateful we had this time together.
 
Sleep in peace, little one. I will miss you so, so much.

You were such a beautiful fish, Sammy; you brought me immense joy during a time of great sadness.
 
I’m so grateful we had this time together.
 
Sleep in peace, little one. I will miss you so, so much.

Maddie cried herself to sleep that night, heartbroken over the loss of this tiny creature who had filled such a large piece of her already broken heart.

 

Miri was saddened by Sammy’s passing and showed such kindness when Maddie, though embarrassed to admit it, confided how much she missed him. They sat in solemn silence at a coffee shop as Maddie shared the story, their fingers curled around the warm white cups of their friendship, into the early evening.


Winter arrived in heavy combat boots. The ground froze and several feet of snow smothered Maddie’s driveway. She had a system for shoveling--she never lifted the snow; she simply pushed it down the driveway in snow-shovel-size paths. If it was really deep, she only cleared a single path wide enough for emergency personnel to reach her; probably a trauma reaction from somewhere in her past...

 

Perhaps it all traced back to her 46-year-old father’s fatal heart attack when she was 15, her teenage brother’s suicide when she was 21 — she would never forget that phone call — the sudden, nightmarish things that arrived without warning.

 
Maddie had learned to avert disaster by anticipating, anticipating, anticipating what might happen, what could happen, because things do happen, and always, always she’d ask herself if there wasn’t something she could do to prevent it…

 

Sometimes she would go half-way and push the snow off to the side. If she got bored, she’d abandon the vertical pattern and start from the side, pushing it horizontally across the driveway’s width. It was a Miró-esque approach, as if lines were dropped on a page and then wandered off wherever they pleased. Maddie could only imagine what her neighbors thought, though she didn’t much care.

 
Their teenage children, unaccustomed to the world of high finance and snow shoveling, would saunter over and offer their services, after she finished—completely oblivious to the fact that the job was already done. She would just stare at them in blank disbelief until they wandered away. Shovel what, exactly!?

 

When the driveway was clear, she could easily drive anywhere she needed to. Now she could relax. There was a way out.


She leaned the snow shovel against the garage wall and slipped off her Lands’ End rubber snow boots. Stepping into her kitchen, she peeled off her black faux fur long winter coat and shivered a little, shaking off the cold. As she hung it on the dining room chair to dry, her eyes drifted to the dimmed corner of her living room. The tank light, the pink flower, and the delicate life that once swam there, were gone.


The silence in Maddie’s house deepened.

 

She turned the heat up to an eco-unfriendly degree before she climbed the steep stairs to the second floor.
 

No more morning and evening greetings; no more quiet moments in the nearby leather chair, captivated by Sammy’s graceful movements and vibrant red colors. Only the lingering darkness remained.

 

Maddie shared her sad story with her coworker, not long after. He listened kindly and admitted that he, too, had lost a Bettafish he’d cared about. “You know,” he said gently, “the best thing to do when your Bettafish dies... is go get another one.”

Buddy, the Blue Butterfly Fish

So, Maddie decided to take her friend’s advice, but this time go to a different fish store. As she entered the unfamiliar establishment, she headed straight for the wall of Bettafish, their little plastic cups a blur; she was still unsure of where to begin.

 

A bespeckled young clerk with black glasses wearing a red and black checkered shirt, looking to be about twelve years old, approached and stood next to her, quietly.

 

“My Bettafish, Sammy, just died,” Maddie said quietly, glancing at him and then back to the Bettafish.

 
“I’m sorry,” The young man responded. They stared at the Bettafish in the cups.
 

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m looking for another one because I read that when your Bettafish dies, you should get another one. I’ve been looking at all these, but I can’t decide which color to get.”

The young man silently looked at all the fish with her and listened respectfully.
 
“Sammy was a beautiful burnt orange color. Should I get one that is a completely different color? Or should I just get another one that looks exactly like him?”
 
The young man wrinkled his nose at her second suggestion but then brightened as if struck by an idea. His slight frame moved to the end of the Bettafish aisle, and he returned with an exquisite blue fish in a cup. 

“How about this one?” he offered hopefully. “It’s called a Blue Butterfly.”

 

Maddie was stunned. A blue butterfly? Amazingly, she had recently read that blue butterflies were cherished in many cultures and were thought to bring good luck, transformation, and peace. They represented a positive change in life, and legend was that if you see one, your wishes will come true. I’d settle for having a fairly good chance of them coming true, she dryly thought to herself.


One had actually followed her around the backyard on a wiltingly hot summer afternoon. Another sign?


Maddie smiled a smile the young man would never fully comprehend and said, “I would love to have this blue butterfly fish.” His face lit up with satisfaction, pleased he helped her make the perfect choice.

 

On cue, the blue butterfly fish swam right up to Maddie’s finger. Her heart warmed and joyfully, she took her beautiful fish home, where he revealed his name to be Buddy.

 

Buddy’s personality was quite different from Sammy’s. Sammy was kind of like a man who sits by the fire, smokes a pipe and says fatherly things, and perhaps goes hunting now and then (for snails…).

 

Buddy was a hotshot stunt pilot who loved to show off his wings. From the moment Maddie put him in the tank, he flew like a P-51 through the sky, diving to the bottom, then racing to the top, exploring every inch of his new home. He swam to her finger every time she touched the tank, strong and thrilled to be in his luxurious new quarters.

 

“You’re quite the showoff, aren’t you little guy! Look at you!!”

 

Buddy tirelessly flew to all corners of his new realm, as if he had been waiting his entire life for this moment to spread his wings and fly.

 

He was never afraid of Maddie, not from the first moment. Whenever she entered the room, he would eagerly swim to the side of the tank to greet her.

 

Of course, as a fighting Bettafish, it’s possible he was just ready to throw down right there, but Maddie didn’t care. She loved it.

Buddy was a hot shot stunt pilot who loved to

show off his wings.

Buddy was a hot shot stunt pilot who loved to show off his wings.

Once again, days were brightly balanced. In the quiet moments before work, she liked to watch her little fish explore his world. A new tank, filter, pink bush, and tree stump completed his little habitat. Buddy wasted no time making the stump his favorite sleeping spot.

 

Maddie cut back Buddy’s feeding, giving him just one pellet in the morning and another at night. Occasionally she treated him to an extra one. He seemed to be thriving. Sometimes during her usual rush of settling in for the evening, she would stop and sit in the nearby chair and watch him gracefully glide around his tank; she felt incredibly fortunate to have him. Given what she had learned about blue butterflies, it was, after all, possible he would bring good luck.

 

Maddie’s friends were captivated by Buddy’s beauty. They had never seen such a magical fish. Buddy quickly became a conversation piece, and she took great pleasure in sharing his enchanting Cirque de Soleil acrobatics with them.

Like Sammy, Buddy wasn’t a morning type; he was always quietly asleep when she shuffled downstairs, not quite awake. herself. 

 

And as before, she began her morning ritual by opening her textured white shades, welcoming in the soft hush of early light. The room was calm and pale; her white sofa and chair, paired with a matching ottoman, formed a quiet center against the sand-colored floor. Simple brass end tables held light-reflecting glass tops, and white ceramic coasters with robins painted on them added a delicate touch. Colorful paintings lined the walls, offering lively contrast to the otherwise soft palette. Occasionally, there were fresh flowers which she nurtured long past their expiration dates.

 

Light instrumental jazz drifted through the house, blending easily with the stillness.

           

The white mantel, clean-lined and unadorned, held only a few sculptures: small, expressive figures of Ellis Island immigrants, and a taller one of Paganini, caught mid-pose, passionately playing his violin, all crafted by a dear friend, a local artist whose work Maddie cherished.


Her choices reflected the minimalist style which helped her feel at ease. As the light slowly filled the room, she chatted softly with Buddy, then made her way to the kitchen to fix breakfast. After she ate, she fed Buddy and got ready for the day.

 

As she headed out the door, she’d call, “Goodbye, little Buddy!”—and hurry out the door to her job. Evenings followed the same comforting rhythm Maddie once shared with Sammy, and for the first time in a long while, the world felt right again.


Buddy’s color was striking. Maddie lined the bottom of his tank with blue aquarium glass and added a bright blue plastic flower. He swam over and around them, often nestling into the petals as if they were made just for him. His vivid blue stood out against the softer hues, a bold presence in his tiny world. He moved through the water with purpose—clearly the king of his domain.

Maddie often found herself thinking about the blue butterflies of the land and comparing them to this little blue butterfly of the sea, marveling at the quiet magic they both shared as they moved with delicate, wing-like grace through the world. You only had to stop and watch Buddy to know he was a spiritual presence. She appreciated his beauty—a tiny creature so easy to overlook if you hurried by.


Even her friends, when they visited, felt they were witnessing something extraordinary when they paused to watch Buddy in awe. He was quite simply, beautiful to anyone who took the time to pause and look.

 

Maddie felt incredibly lucky to have crossed paths with the kind fish store clerk who found him. It was, in its own small way, a healing. Buddy was a precious gift in Maddie’s life. His presence was comforting...


The winter months passed quickly, wrapped in the coziness of familiar routines. Buddy swam in his blue universe, and Maddie in hers. Each morning and night, they met at the edge of the fish tank, connecting through the glass before going to their separate realms. Buddy to a paradise of blue fluffy flowers and the shelter of his favorite tree stump, Maddie to a world that was vast and demanding, often heavy with the weight of a busy life, the ache of a long relationship lost, and the quiet grief of losing Gracie and Sammy.
 
But at night, at night when she came home, it was to a peaceful, uncomplicated, transformative, enchanting world.


Buddy and Maddie were a match made in heaven.
 
And then...without warning...their perfect world began to shift.


Buddy grew lethargic. Maddie couldn’t believe it was happening again. A familiar dread crept in—heavy and immediate. She feared the worst.


She took a water sample to the fish store, but they said everything appeared normal. They suspected a parasite and recommended Bettafix. The suggestion stirred painful memories of Sammy and his antibiotic. Maddie didn’t fully trust their advice, but she had no better options.


Soon, Buddy began hovering near the filter and refused to come out. Maddie recognized the sign. She prayed she was wrong, but deep in the pit of her stomach, she knew—and the knowing made her sick.


Over the next few days, she did her best to coax him out, worried he was starving. She tapped gently on the side of the tank, hoping he’d respond. Once, he burst from behind the filter, darted to the surface for a quick bite, then shot back into hiding like some annoyed teenager, as if to say, “Fine, I ate. Now can you please leave me alone?”


Summer arrived too quickly. Maddie had non-refundable beach reservations and couldn’t exactly bring the fish tank with her. She dreaded leaving Buddy behind but asked her trusted friend Annie to house-sit and care for him. Annie was wonderful—sending frequent texts, updates, and photos throughout the week to reassure Maddie.


When Maddie returned home, Buddy seemed a little better. But just a week later, he too succumbed to a mysterious illness.


With the heaviest heart, Maddie brought Buddy to the quiet spot in the yard where Sammy rested next to Buddha. Choking up, she whispered a few words of thanks—for his gentle spirit, his sweet company—and then, helplessly, she wept as she laid this magical blue butterfly to rest beside Sammy, with Buddha watching over them.


Maddie was heartbroken. Another beautiful fish had died in her care. The quiet magic she found in Buddy’s presence was gone, and with it, a fragile sense of hope. He was a blue butterfly fish, said to bring good luck. Here we go, she thought to herself. Here we go...


Shaking her head slowly, Maddie was beginning to feel like she was starring in some offbeat remake of Arsenic and Old Lace—only this time, it was a woman in the suburbs quietly burying yet another Betta fish beneath a Buddha statue. The bodies were starting to pile up.


She stood in the yard, tiny shovel in hand, and thought to herself: This can’t be normal. Maybe it was time for her to step back and reassess.

 

A few days later, Maddie returned to the pet store for another Betta fish. The third time was not a charm...


She moved through the rest of the summer and into a bitter winter—don’t tell me Minnesota is worse—going through the motions of her daily routine. Mornings began in darkness, fumbling her way through the quiet stillness of her home; her only focus now was getting ready for work. She tried not to notice the empty corner, the box of Gracie’s toys, or the bare closet where her husband’s sweaters used to hang.


She stopped at Starbucks, not for the food, but for the comfort of motion and the presence of other lives. The noise, the warmth, the rush of people helped drown out the silence that reminded her she was alone again.


Throughout the day, she’d pause over yet another cup of coffee and reflect on how hard it is to love something and then lose it. Loss leaves a mark, and for Maddie, it left her deeply reluctant to ever go through it again.


The days went by—first one, then another, and soon, entire months. Over time, the pain lessened and became a scar: something Maddie knew was there but no longer felt. It was at that stage, when the sharpness of her memories had dulled, that her thinking quietly shifted, and she began to turn away from her well-worn path of sadness.

 

Maddie hadn’t set out to take an easy path to commitment. It was more a matter of loving only as much as she instinctively knew she could bear—a survival instinct. Her affection grew for Sammy and Buddy simply because of their beauty and innocence. And it was those qualities that began to awaken in her the possibility of loving again.

 

Maddie let go of an unhealthy relationship by choice, and unwillingly let go of a beloved dog, and three fish—each a different kind of love, yet each taught her a hard but simple truth: every relationship eventually changes.

 

Life, like the seasons, kept reminding her about transitions: relationships end, dogs grow old, and fish die. And it always, always hurts.

But the sweetness of these connections lingered in Maddie’s heart as she healed; and sometimes, out of nowhere, she’d remember a look, a sound, a rhythm of a particular day, and instead of shattering her, the good in it brought her comfort. Maybe even strength.

 

She began to notice patterns in her life. The way she poured herself into caring for others, the way she always showed up—and the way she was left alone to carry the weight of love and loss in the hardest moments.


There was Frank, who couldn’t give back. 

There was Gracie, whom Maddie loved deeply, and whose care—especially in those final, painful days–fell almost entirely to her while Frank withdrew.

And there were the fragile lives of Sammy and Buddy, who slipped away, despite her vigilant devotion. 
 
She asked for little from any of them, though Gracie had given love freely.
 
But each revealed a different facet of who she was: devotion, vulnerability, commitment, and yes—even strength. Not bad traits, she realized, but traits she longed, one day, to receive in return.


And slowly, without even noticing, she could almost feel those lessons begin to guide her outward again—toward a place where she could begin to seek not just to love, but to be loved in return.

 

Spring seemed so long in coming; she teased for a while, her soft lips beckoning as she began to appear without the winter’s bite, only to slip back under the covers for a week or two.

 
But eventually, the day came when she could be counted on to stay. The air warmed, and somewhere deep within Maddie, something had shifted. The ache in her heart that had lasted so many months, was gone.

 

Maddie loved the mornings again, making her half-caff Nespresso coffee with soy vanilla creamer, that first sip so smooth and comforting. She enjoyed her croissant at the dining room table and looked out over the yard as it began to awaken with new life: the fresh green of the azaleas, the purple blossoms on her butterfly bush, the flutter of birds in the trees, the swooping robin, all singing their new song of life. And Maddie was ready.

She scrolled through stories in her phone mindlessly sipping her coffee, when suddenly she saw him...a curly, fluffy, white cockapoo, with soft apricot ears.

He took her breath away.

 

In an instant, she knew, she was ready.


You say your name is Harley? Hello Harley, heart of my heart. Hello little guy...


I’ve been waiting for you.


And in that moment, Maddie’s world tilted softly back into balance.

© 2025 Vashti Stopher Klein. All rights reserved.


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