Not in our living room.
Not in our garage.
In a neutral space—one of those plain community rooms with folding chairs and fluorescent lights that make everyone look tired.
The city agreed to host it as a “community concern discussion.”
An officer was there—same young guy from Part 1, but off duty now, sitting in the back like he didn’t want attention.
I stood near the front with my dad, my hands sweaty.
Mrs. Higgins arrived early and took a seat in the first row.
Of course she did.
The room filled with neighbors I’d waved at for years.
People I’d shared sidewalks with.
People who’d borrowed tools.
People who’d smiled at my dad like he was just an old man with a quiet life.
Now they looked at him like he was a mystery they wanted to solve.
The moderator cleared her throat. “We’re here to address concerns about animals and safety in the neighborhood. Mr. Frank—”
My dad stepped forward, cane tapping the floor.
He looked smaller under those lights.
But his voice carried.
“I’m not running a business,” he said.
Murmurs.
A man in the second row raised a hand like this was a classroom. “Then why are dogs disappearing from your house?”
My dad nodded like that was fair. “Because I don’t keep them.”
Mrs. Higgins practically jumped out of her seat. “So you admit it!”
My dad turned to her. “I admit I give them away.”
Gasps.
Somebody whispered, “See?”
My dad lifted a hand, steady. “Not for money.”
A woman in the back scoffed. “Sure.”
My chest tightened.
Then Jaden stood up.
One arm. Young face. Old eyes.
He didn’t introduce himself with a dramatic speech.
He just said, clearly:
“I’m one of the ‘disappearances.’”
The room went still.
Jaden swallowed, voice shaking but firm. “I haven’t slept through the night in two years. I used to wake up with my hand on a gun because I didn’t know where I was. I used to panic in parking lots. I used to—”
He paused, eyes flicking to Mrs. Higgins like he was deciding whether she deserved his honesty.
Then he continued anyway.
“And this dog,” he said, gesturing to Buster at his side, “is the first thing that made my body believe I was safe again.”
A man near the front shifted uncomfortably. “Are you saying Frank trained that dog?”
Jaden nodded once. “Yes.”
Mrs. Higgins snapped, “How do we know you’re not lying? How do we know you’re not part of it?”
I heard a few people murmur agreement.
And I wanted to launch myself across the room.
But Jaden didn’t flinch.
He looked at her like she was a storm he’d already survived.
“I don’t care if you believe me,” he said softly. “But I’m going to tell you what you did.”
Mrs. Higgins blinked, offended. “What I did?”
Jaden’s voice turned sharp. “You posted half a story. You turned a scared old man into a villain for strangers to chew on. You turned people like me into an argument.”
He took a breath, visibly grounding himself.
Buster pressed into his leg. A quiet anchor.
“You want a controversial truth?” Jaden asked, eyes sweeping the room. “Here it is: a lot of us come home and we don’t feel welcome. Not because anyone says it out loud. Because of the way people look at us. Like we’re ticking.”
Silence.
Jaden’s throat bobbed. “And Frank? Frank didn’t look at me like that. He looked at me like I was still human.”
A neighbor raised his hand, voice strained. “Okay. Fine. He helps veterans. But why bring ‘dangerous’ dogs into a neighborhood? Why not stick to ‘safe’ dogs?”
My dad’s jaw tightened.
He stepped forward, voice low.
“Because the ‘safe’ ones get adopted,” he said. “The broken ones get put down.”
A woman frowned. “So you’re… saving dogs?”
My dad nodded. “And people.”
Another man, older, arms folded. “But you’re not a professional. What if one of those dogs hurts someone?”
That question hung in the air—heavy, real.
And that’s when I realized what made this so combustible.
They weren’t asking out of pure cruelty.
Some of them were genuinely scared.
In America right now, people are exhausted.
They’re suspicious.
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