— “It’s unofficial, but you earned it.”
Alex took it, felt the weight of the metal in his palm, and closed his hand around it.
— “Thanks.”
— “Take care of yourself, Alex.”
That was the last time they spoke.
Years passed. Rusty grew old. His muzzle turned white, and his gait slowed. He still went on walks, but he didn’t chase the squirrels anymore. He mostly preferred to lie under the big oak tree and watch Alex work. He lived another four years before he passed away quietly in his sleep.
Alex buried him under that oak tree. He didn’t put up a fancy headstone, just a simple wooden cross. He sat there until the sun went down, watching the light filter through the leaves. He didn’t cry. He just whispered two words:
— “Thank you.”
Now, he lives alone. Sometimes the neighbor’s kids come by to help with the woodpile. He isn’t the “scary guy” on the hill, but he isn’t the social butterfly either. He’s just a man who lived through a nightmare and found a way to wake up.
On quiet evenings, when the wind rattles the shutters, Alex sits on his porch with a cup of tea. He looks out at the lake and knows that everything is where it should be.
He doesn’t live in the past. He doesn’t hold onto the anger. That all burned away a long time ago. All that’s left is the peace and the memory of a woman he loved and a dog that saved his life.
He leans back, closes his eyes, and listens to the silence. The kind of silence you can finally live with.
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