When I turned the corner onto my granddad’s street that afternoon, I wasn’t expecting to see him sitting alone on the porch. He was hunched forward, his weathered hands trembling slightly as they held a small bundle against his chest. For a moment, I thought maybe he’d fallen ill, and panic surged through me. But as I drew closer, I realized it wasn’t just him.
A puppy—tiny, thin, and with a bandaged paw was cradled in his lap. My heart tightened.
Then my eyes dropped to the other details: the battered suitcase by his feet, two trash bags stuffed with clothes, and the unmistakable look of defeat on his 82-year-old face.
