It was pouring rain that evening, the kind that soaked through your clothes in seconds, making the city feel smaller, darker, and lonelier. I was hurrying through a public park on my way home from work when I heard a sound that didn’t belong to the storm. It was soft, broken, and desperate.
A whimper. I stopped, heart pounding, and scanned the shadows until I saw a small, trembling shape beneath a bench. A golden retriever puppy, no more than a few weeks old, soaked to the bone and shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered, dropping to my knees. She didn’t try to run when I reached for her. She didn’t even flinch.
She just leaned into my arms as if she had been waiting for me. I stood there in the rain, holding her against my chest, completely overwhelmed. I had no plan, no supplies, and no idea what to do next.
That was when a stranger appeared beside me, holding an umbrella. “Do you need help?” he asked. I turned to see a man jogging toward us, concern written across his face.
His hair was plastered to his forehead, rain dripping from his jacket, but his eyes softened when he saw the puppy in my arms. “She’s freezing,” I said, my voice unsteady. “I don’t know where to take her.”
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