As the rental car rolled to a stop on the dark road, her fear increased by the moment. She wasn’t even sure why she had agreed to this. It had sounded different over the phone, less… real. The man said he had found the dog. That was all. She opened the car door slowly. The air was cold and quiet and smelled like dirt. The house looked normal. Maybe a bit old. There was a light on inside. She knocked. The man who opened the door was tall and kind of thin, with gray hair that stuck out on one side. He looked nervous too. “Are you… Emma?” he asked. She nodded. He stepped aside and let her in. And there, laying on the rug, was Charlie. Older. Thinner. But unmistakably him. She dropped her bag and knelt down. “Charlie,” she said, and her voice broke immediately. His tail wagged once. Slowly. She had lost him three years ago, during the worst year of her life. Everything had fallen apart around the same time, and losing him had felt like the final proof that nothing stayed. The man explained he’d found Charlie wandering near his property. No collar. No chip. He’d taken care of him. Fed him. Talked to him. “He always sat by the door,” the man said. “Like he was waiting.” She thanked him, over and over. He nodded, but didn’t smile. She realized then that he wasn’t just giving the dog back. He was losing him. Charlie stood up, shaky but determined, and walked toward her. The man watched silently. And that was the moment he finally understood what it had cost him.