Don Ernesto stood there in his undershirt, one hand gripping his keys, his eyes already looking past Miguel’s shoulder.
“I knew it,” he said. “You brought a dog in here.”
“It’s temporary,” Miguel said. “She was on the highway. Her puppies are sick.”
“My building is not a shelter.”
“I know.”
“You know everything, Miguel, but you still do whatever brings trouble to my door.”
Behind him, Canela gave another low growl, and Don Ernesto’s expression hardened with immediate disgust.
“Out,” he said. “Tonight.”
Lupita stood up slowly, still holding the pale puppy against her chest.
“Don Ernesto, please,” she said. “Give us until morning. They won’t survive outside.”
“That is not my problem.”
The sentence landed flatly, without cruelty in the voice, which somehow made it worse.
Miguel felt Lupita’s eyes on him, but he kept looking at the landlord’s keys.
There were three choices in front of him, and none of them felt clean.
If he argued, they could lose the apartment completely.
If he obeyed, Canela and the puppies might d!e before sunrise.
If he called someone official, the bracelet might become something bigger than all of them.
“Give me two hours,” Miguel said.
Don Ernesto laughed once, without humor.
“For what? To make another excuse?”
“To find somewhere safe,” Miguel said. “For the dog. For all of them.”
Don Ernesto looked at Lupita, at the puppy hidden in her sweater, and something tired crossed his face.
“Two hours,” he said. “Then I don’t hear barking, crying, or one more scratch on my floor.”
When the door closed, Miguel leaned his forehead against the wood and breathed like he had been running.
Lupita did not comfort him.
She went back to the bracelet.
“We have to call the hospital,” she said.
Miguel turned.
“And say what? That a dog dragged their bracelet down the highway with six puppies?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll think we’re crazy.”
“Maybe,” Lupita said. “But maybe someone is looking for Sofía Herrera.”
Canela growled again at the name, softer this time, as if it hurt instead of angered her.
Miguel crouched near the dog, keeping his hands visible.
“Who was she to you, girl?” he asked.
Canela did not move.
But one of the puppies pushed blindly toward her belly, and she bent to clean it with desperate tenderness.
Lupita called the hospital with the bracelet number, her voice polite at first, then firmer as she repeated herself.
Miguel could hear only pieces.
Found bracelet.
Federal Highway 45.
Newborn puppies.
