“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.
Name Sofía Herrera.
No, not a prank.
No, we are not asking for money.
Then Lupita went silent.
Her face changed slowly, as if someone on the other end had opened a door she did not want to see.
