Laura stood frozen for a moment, the woman’s words echoing in her mind. “He waits for him to come home…” she repeated quietly. The thought hit her like a wave. She looked back at the dog, still sitting in front of the empty house, eyes fixed on the door that would never open again. The neighbor stepped closer, her voice soft and full of empathy. “His name’s Max. He belonged to a man named Peter. They used to ride your bus together every morning. Peter worked across town. When he passed last winter, the dog just… kept coming back here and to that bus stop. Same time, every day. Like he’s still waiting for him.”

Laura’s chest tightened. She felt a lump rise in her throat. The idea of such loyalty of love that strong made her eyes sting. “Has no one taken him in?” she asked. The woman shook her head. “A few tried, but he always runs back here. This is home for him. This is where he saw his person last.”

Laura knelt down slowly, careful not to startle the dog. “Hey, Max,” she whispered. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” He turned his head toward her, and for a brief second, something shifted. His tail twitched, just once, as if her voice reminded him of something familiar. She stayed there a while, watching him breathe in the quiet. The sun had dipped below the trees, painting the house in a soft golden glow. When she finally stood to leave, Max let out a low whine not a bark, not a growl, just a small, aching sound. That night, Laura couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those patient eyes staring down the road, waiting for someone who would never come. By morning, she’d made a decision. She didn’t know how yet, but she wasn’t going to let that dog wait alone any longer.