I let her think it was her decision.

I said we went to the property “just to look.” The second we entered the gate, she beelined for the chubbiest, sleepiest little ball of fur—that was all. First squish love.

She called him Buttons even before we departed the yard.

Trying to make rent stretch, she had no idea I had been sleeping in the car some nights. That the message pinned to our apartment door underlined “final warning.” The pet deposit by itself exceeded my checking balance.

But seeing her that day—barefoot in the grass, smiling with her whole face while Buttons gazed up at her like he already belonged—I couldn’t say no.

I promised the owner we would “come back tomorrow.”

She clutched my hand in the car and said, “He picked me too, Mama.”

I agreed.

But as she dozed down clutching a sock she claimed smelled like Buttons, I realized I had under 24 hours to come up with something.

Since she had previously created room for him in her heart.

And allowing that to be shattered once more… was not a choice.

Over bowls of cereal mostly milk, I attempted to come up with a solution the next morning. Doodling little paw prints all over her notebook, my eight-year-old daughter Tilly sat opposite me. With those expectant eyes, she glanced up every few seconds wondering whether it was time to go fetch Buttons.

“Soon,” I said, my stomach churning. How could I tell her that life was not as easy as love? That occasionally loving something—or someone—meant forgoing something you never intended to do?

I glanced through job postings on my phone while Tilly prepared for school. Anything to generate additional money. I would have done all of them—babysitting jobs, dog walking, cleaning services—if it meant maintaining our survival. But none of these choices paid quickly enough or sufficiently to meet the $300 pet deposit by tomorrow.

Then, just as I was starting to lose hope, my phone chimed. It was a text from Mrs. Harper, my elderly neighbor two doors down: Hey, can you come help me move some boxes today? Will compensate.

Relief poured through me. Perhaps this was my opportunity. I said yes right away and planned to see her following Tilly’s school drop-off.

Mrs. Harper’s home had a little aroma of old books and lavender. Leaning much on her cane, she met me at the door with her typical welcoming grin. Cardboard boxes piled up to the ceiling crowded her living room.

I’m reducing my size, she said. Next month I’m moving into assisted living. Just a good set of hands to put these into my son’s pickup later.

“No problem,” I answered, rolling up my sleeves. Working together to sift products and bundle delicate trinkles, she inquired about Tilly and my situation. I hesitated but thought that honesty could win me some sympathy—perhaps even a gratuity.

I began cautiously, “We’re doing alright.” Tilly, though, fell in love with a dog yesterday. A genuine darling called Buttons. The trouble is, I currently lack funds for the pet deposit.

Mrs. Harper stopped wrapping a porcelain vase to give me a reflective glance. “You are a good mother,” she finally remarked. Few would prioritize their child’s joy above anything else.

Her remarks surprised me. Though I blinked them aside, I felt tears prick the edges of my eyes. “Thank you,” I said quietly. I only wish I could do more.

“Perhaps there’s a way I can assist, then,” she answered softly. You know, I have been wanting to locate houses for some of my late husband’s possessions. There are a few worthwhile items here—nothing sentimental any more, of course. Should you not mind bringing them to a consignment store, I would be happy to provide any profit they generate.

I was overjoyed. “Really? Is that really the case?

She shook her head resolutely. Of course. Think of it as compensation for your effort today. Apart from that, she said with a sparkle in her eye, “it sounds like Tilly merits a happy conclusion.”

By early afternoon, I had packed a lovely mahogany side table, vintage lamps, and several antique clocks into my car. Examining every item at the consignment store made the appraiser’s eyes widen. He gave me a $450 check when he was done.

You are fortunate, he remarked. Many of these things will sell fast. Return in a week for the remainder of your income.

Driving home, I gripped the check tightly and thanked him heartily. After months, I finally felt a glimpse of hope. The pressure on my chest felt lighter, as if perhaps—just maybe—we may get a break.

After collecting Tilly from school, I treated her to ice cream sundaes at her preferred café that night. I casually said we would be returning to the farm shortly as she joyfully scooped into her chocolate fudge creation.

“Does that imply we are acquiring Buttons?” she inquired, her spoon motionless halfway to her lips.

“Yes,” I responded, grinning even with the throat lump. “Yes, it does.”

Though it bothered other patrons, her scream of delight caught my attention. Every sacrifice was justified by her happiness.

Buttons waddled directly toward Tilly, tail wagging madly, when we got at the farm the next day. Burying her face in his soft hair, she picked him up. She laughed hysterically as he licked her nose.

“He remembers me!” she shouted, gazing at me with bright eyes.

Feeling both relief and thankfulness sweep over me, I signed the documents and paid the adoption charge. Tilly held Buttons in her lap on the drive home, talking excitedly about all the adventures they would have together.

But as we entered our driveway, my heart fell. A locksmith was laboring on our front door and a tow vehicle was parked outside our building. Rushing inside, panic shot through me to discover our landlord waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he responded gruffly, waving the eviction notice. Rent’s late, and I warned you often.

Tears clouded my sight as I understood our circumstances were far from settled. What should we do now? Where would we travel?

Curled up on the couch in Mrs. Harper’s spare bedroom later that night—she insisted we stay until we sorted things out—I watched Tilly play with Buttons on the floor. She still exuded unadulterated delight despite all. Seeing her grin and hug the dog reminded me of my struggle to preserve that brightness in her.

At that very moment, my phone vibrated. From an unidentified number, it read: Hi, I found your internet babysitting advertisement. Looking for consistent shifts? Good salary, flexible hours.

Hope sparkled afresh. Perhaps this was the new beginning we required. Determined deep inside, I answered right away.

Life started to stabilize over the next several weeks. I was able to find a tiny rental unit for us between babysitting jobs, selling more of Mrs. Harper’s antiques, and prudent budgeting. It wasn’t much, but it was ours and were no pet limitations.

Sitting on the porch steps and thinking back on all we had gone through, Tilly ran Buttons around our new backyard laughing madly one bright afternoon. Though life had not been simple, we had nonetheless managed to go forward. In unison.

But isn’t that what really counts? Not the battles themselves but rather how we overcome them—with love, tenacity, and hope in better days to come.

Should this tale resonate with you, please pass it on to others who could benefit from a reminder that even in difficult circumstances, love and hope can lead the way. And remember to press the like button; it matters a lot to creators like myself! Love