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Jucinara's POV

"Good girl." I say with a smile as I look at my new service dog

After the incident in London, my doctor, Christen, Emma, Cairo, Ash, Ali, and my family thought it'd be a good idea to look into getting me a service dog for my PTSD from my childhood and all the abuse I received from my ex girlfriend

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After the incident in London, my doctor, Christen, Emma, Cairo, Ash, Ali, and my family thought it'd be a good idea to look into getting me a service dog for my PTSD from my childhood and all the abuse I received from my ex girlfriend.

Once I got to LA and got settled in with Christen, I started working with a local service dog company and training with my new Border Collie service dog.

Today's the day I got to take my service dog home forever.

"She's so cute." Jackie says as I feed my new doggy a treat.

"Very cute." Christen says as my service dog smiles at her.

"She'll look even cuter in my jersey." Alana teases. "Especially my national team jersey."

"I don't know how well Nalu will react to wearing a jersey." I say.

My service dog's name is Nalu.

"Well if you want we can try later." Christen says.

I nod then the news on the tv captures everyone's attention.

"Not again." I say as I watch the breaking news coverage.

"I wonder if Dad knows who shot him." Isabel says as she sits next to me at the table in the cafeteria of the Atlético Los Angeles training center.

A cop from the LAPD shot a 17 year old black kid today which angers, saddens, and pisses me off.

I love my Dad, but I wish he'd get a job that's not related to being a cop.

"Is that Dad?" Adriana asks as our dad and his S.W.A.T Unit walk past the news reporter.

"I swear to fuck." I mumble as I pick up my phone then I call my Dad.

When my Dad's on Duty, but not actively on a raid or other stuff with his swat team, he has his phone set up so only my sisters, my brother, my mom, and I can reach him.

"Sweetie I can't talk right now." Dad says.

"Did you shoot him?" I ask.

"Babygirl..."

"Dad did you shoot him?" I ask again.

"No." My dad says. "Promessa."

Promessa means promise in Portuguese and when one of my family or I use it, it means we're dead serious.

"Did anybody in your unit?"

"No." My dad says. "Some patrol dude did."

"Is he in trouble?" I ask.

"Actually yes." My Dad says. "Like there's no way he gets away with this."

"They say that all the time." I say. "Yet only like 2 percent get convicted."

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