**Diary Entry**
I never thought it would come to thismy own son turning me out into the cold. That bitter autumn evening, I could hardly feel my fingers or toes as I sat slumped on a park bench, snow dusting my shoulders like a cruel mockery of warmth. The wind cut through my worn-out coat as if it werent even there. Forty years in that house, raising him, loving himonly for him to shut the door in my face.
«Emily and I just dont have the space, and looking after you is too much responsibility. You understand, dont you, Dad?» hed said, avoiding my eyes.
«I understand,» I whispered, though inside, my heart screamed. I didnt understand. How could the boy Id raised, the one Id given everything for, say such a thing?
Leaving home that day would haunt me forever. A tatty old bag with my few belongings, my head bowed in shame, tears I couldnt hold back. Where could I go? The neighbours averted their gazes, and the thought of a care home terrified me. The streets of Manchester felt alien, unforgiving.
Huddled on that bench, I thought of my wife. How wed built that house together, raised our son, dreamed of growing old by the fireplace. «When were grey,» she used to say, «well sit by the fire and remember our youth.» But she was gone now. Two years since she passed, and since then, my son and his wife had treated me like a burden.
As I closed my eyes, numbness crept in. My breathing slowed, my thoughts blurred. «Is this what dying feels like?» Thensuddenlya warm, gentle touch on my cheek startled me. I opened my eyes and froze.
There stood an old stray dog, one Id fed for years near our house. Her kind, loyal eyes watched me with worry. She licked my hand and whined softly, nudging me as if begging me to get up.
«You came, old girl?» I whispered, managing a weak smile.
She wagged her tail and pressed against my frozen legs, as if trying to warm me. Tears rolled down my face. No one else remembered meno one but this scruffy stray.
With effort, I hauled myself up, leaning on the bench for support. She trotted beside me, glancing back now and then, as if saying, «Follow me.»
«Where are we going, lass?» I asked, voice thick with sorrow.
She just wagged her tail and led me through the empty streets. Soon, we reached an abandoned shedonce a storage unit. She whined and nudged the door open with her nose.
Inside, the air was damp, the floor covered in old straw, but it was better than nothing. I sank down, back against the wall, and pulled her close, stroking her matted fur.
«Thank you,» I murmured. «At least you didnt leave me.»
I closed my eyes, feeling her warmth as she curled against me. The past faded, leaving only a frail hope that maybe God still saw methat I wasnt entirely forsaken.
The next morning, a passerby found me shivering on the sheds doorstep, the dog pressed close, keeping me alive with her body heat. They called an ambulance, and when I woke in hospital, my first question was, «Wheres my dog?»
The nurse smiled. «Shes waiting at the entrance. Hasnt moved an inch.»
That day, I learned loyalty isnt bound by blood. Sometimes, those closest to you fail you, while strangersor even an old straybecome your truest friends.
I never went back. My son sold the house soon after. I moved into a shelter where they cared for me, but the best part was my faithful dogthe one whod found me that night, when Id been ready to let gostayed by my side, always.
