Hope in Fragile Hands
We wrapped the trembling puppy in Daniel’s jacket. It didn’t resist. It just lay there, its head pressed weakly against his chest, as though it finally knew it was safe.
We drove straight to the nearest veterinary clinic, both of us silent the entire way. Every few seconds, I turned to check if it was still breathing.
At the clinic, the vet — a kind woman with gentle eyes — took one look and rushed the puppy inside.
After what felt like an eternity, she returned.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said. “It’s malnourished and dehydrated, but there are no serious injuries. It just needs time, food, and love.”
I exhaled, a wave of relief washing over me.
