The next morning, the sun barely managed to pierce the thick gray clouds hanging over the city. I could feel the weight of yesterday’s near-loss pressing on me as I stirred a lukewarm cup of coffee, Duke’s head resting heavily against my knees, his eyes half-closed but alert. Lily was still asleep, curled up on the floor in her sleeping bag, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit like it was a lifeline.
I traced the edge of Duke’s ear, feeling the scar that ran through it—an ugly mark of survival, but now a badge of courage. I knew the world outside our little apartment was indifferent at best, cruel at worst. Every step outside the door carried the risk of landlords, policies, and rules designed to erase the vulnerable. But I also knew something more powerful: yesterday had shown me what love and loyalty could do.
After breakfast, I dressed Lily, making sure her coat was zipped tight against the biting wind. Duke sat at her side, tail sweeping back and forth, ears pricked for every sound. We walked to the bus stop—a small ritual of normalcy in a life that had been anything but. Lily held my hand, but Duke walked just a step ahead, his body angled protectively between us and the rest of the world.
At the bus stop, a group of neighborhood kids pointed and whispered. “That’s the pit bull,” one said, voice shaking between fear and fascination. “The one that saved the little girl.”
