Chapter: Where Love Was Waiting
Ter stood outside the front door longer than he needed to.
His hand held the key, but he just stared at the lock.
Usually, before he even opened it, he would hear the sound.
Fast little paws scratching the floor.
That frantic spinning behind the door.
That tiny bark that sounded too big for such a small body.
Then the second the door opened—
Lego would throw himself at Ter like he had been waiting all day for the sun to come back.
Every day.
No matter how late Ter came home.
No matter how tired he looked.
No matter if Ter smiled or cried or said nothing at all.
Lego always came.
Always.
Ter didn't know it, but some of his worst days had only ended because someone had been happy to see him.
Someone small.
Someone white.
Someone who loved him without asking questions.
He unlocked the door.
The door opened.
Silence.
Ter blinked.
No paws.
No bark.
No running.
Just the quiet hum of the house.
He stood there, suddenly unable to breathe right.
"...Lego?"
Nothing answered.
He stepped inside slowly.
The door clicked shut behind him.
That sound felt wrong tonight.
"Lego?" he called again, softer.
Still nothing.
His chest tightened in a way he didn't understand.
Maybe asleep.
Maybe in his room.
Maybe angry because Ter had been late.
A weak smile almost came.
"Fine… sulk then."
He started walking down the hallway.
Every step echoed.
The house felt larger than usual.
Empty in a frightening way.
He passed the kitchen.
No water bowl sounds.
Passed the sofa.
No little head popping up.
Passed the corner where Lego usually waited when Ter was sad.
Nothing.
Now fear was real.
"Lego…"
His voice shook.
His bedroom door was half closed.
Usually it never stayed shut because Lego pushed it open and closed all day like it belonged to him.
Tonight it was still.
Ter reached for the handle.
His hand was trembling.
He laughed nervously.
"Why am I acting like this…"
He pushed the door open.
And the world broke quietly.
White fur.
On the floor.
Near the bed.
Still.
Too still.
Ter's fingers slipped from the knob.
The metal hit the wall.
He didn't hear it.
He walked forward like someone underwater.
"No…"
Another step.
"No."
He dropped to his knees so hard it hurt.
Lego lay there like he was sleeping.
But not sleeping.
Not that kind.
Ter touched him.
Cold.
He pulled back instantly.
"No!"
He grabbed him into his arms.
"Lego—hey—hey!"
The body was limp.
Head falling sideways.
No tail.
No eyes lighting up.
No tongue trying to lick tears away.
Nothing.
Ter shook him gently.
"Stop it."
Nothing.
A little harder.
"Lego."
Nothing.
His voice cracked.
"Wake up."
Nothing.
He pressed his ear to the tiny chest.
Silence.
No heartbeat.
The world had never sounded so loud.
"No…"
He checked again.
Again.
Again.
As if repeating it enough times would force life back into him.
Then Ter made a sound that did not belong to language.
A raw sound.
The sound of something being torn out alive.
He bent over Lego and sobbed into his fur.
"No no no no… please…"
His tears soaked the white coat immediately.
"I'm home…"
He kept repeating it.
"I'm home, Lego… look… I came back…"
His shoulders shook violently.
"You always wait for me…"
He kissed the top of Lego's head over and over.
"Why didn't you wait today?"
His voice shattered.
"Why not today?"
He looked around the room wildly like someone might fix this.
No one came.
He held the little paws in his hands and rubbed them.
"They're cold…"
He panicked.
"You hate cold, remember?"
He laughed once through tears, broken and ugly.
"You always hide under my blanket…"
He pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped Lego inside it with trembling hands.
"There… there…"
Then he froze.
Because blankets only help the living.
Ter stood suddenly and ran.
"PA!"
He burst into his father's room.
"Pa! Check him—please check him—Lego won't wake up!"
He was crying so hard the words drowned in themselves.
His father woke with irritation, not concern.
Ter moved closer desperately.
"Please…"
He held Lego out like a child begging a god.
His mother glanced once, then looked away.
His father stood, walked past him, and checked the dog with one careless touch.
Then said—
"He's dead."
Two words.
Just two.
As if announcing the weather.
Ter stared at him.
No.
That sentence could not be true.
Not said like that.
Not about Lego.
Not about the one thing that loved him.
His father reached out and took the dog from Ter's arms.
Ter screamed instantly.
"DON'T!"
He grabbed for Lego but missed.
"Give him back!"
His father pushed him aside.
Ter stumbled into the wall.
"PLEASE!"
His mother covered her ears.
"Enough noise."
Enough noise.
Ter looked at her with tears flooding down his face.
Noise?
This was not noise.
This was his heart being buried alive.
His father walked away carrying Lego like an object.
Like laundry.
Like garbage.
Like not the creature who waited every night by the door.
"LEGO!"
Ter chased him, but his father caught him by the arm, dragged him to the bedroom, threw him inside, and locked the door.
The click of the lock sounded like a coffin closing.
Ter hurled himself at it.
"OPEN IT!"
Bang!
"OPEN THE DOOR!"
Bang! Bang!
"PLEASE!"
He clawed the wood until nails bent backward.
"Give him back! Just once!"
Bang!
"I didn't say goodbye!"
Bang!
"PLEASE PA!"
His fists struck until skin tore.
Blood smeared the door.
He didn't notice.
Outside, footsteps kept moving farther away.
Taking Lego.
Taking him alone.
Ter slid down but crawled back up again.
"Please…"
Bang.
"He'll think I left him…"
The words came out strangled.
Bang.
"He always waits for me…"
Bang.
"He'll think I didn't come home…"
Then he stopped hitting the door.
His whole body froze.
Because somewhere inside him, a memory opened.
Rainy afternoon.
Ter crying quietly under his blanket after being shouted at.
Tiny paws climbing onto his chest.
Lego licking tears from his face.
Another memory.
Exam results day.
Ter sitting on the floor feeling useless.
Lego bringing him a torn toy like it was treasure.
Another.
Night thunderstorm.
Ter scared and awake.
Lego trembling too—but still choosing to sleep beside him.
Every time no one loved him—
Lego did.
Every single time.
Ter let out a scream so painful it barely sounded human.
He curled on the floor clutching the empty blanket.
"I'm sorry…"
He sobbed into it.
"I should've come earlier…"
His breath broke.
"I should've protected you…"
He pressed his face to the place where Lego's scent still remained.
"I was the only one you had…"
Then quieter.
"And you were the only one I had."
No one opened the door.
No one comforted him.
No one said sorry.
In the hallway, life continued.
But inside that locked room, a boy learned what loneliness truly was—
Not when people ignore you.
Not when they hurt you.
But when the one soul who waited for you every day…
waits no more.