Laura’s heart sank. “He waits for him to come home,” she repeated softly, the words catching in her throat. The woman nodded. “His name’s Max. He belonged to a man named Peter. They rode your bus together every morning. After Peter died last winter, the dog just… kept waiting. Every morning at the same time, he sits at that stop. Then he walks back here and waits by the door. Like he still believes his person will come home.” Tears filled Laura’s eyes. The idea of such devotion—such unshakable love was almost too much to bear. “Has anyone tried to take him in?” she asked. The woman sighed. “A few have. But he always runs back here. This is where he last saw his owner. He won’t leave.”
Laura crouched near the gate, careful not to scare him. “Hey, Max,” she whispered gently. “You’re a good boy.” The dog turned his head, eyes soft and tired. For a moment, his tail gave a faint wag, as if he recognized something in her voice. Laura stayed there quietly, watching him as the sun sank below the trees. The golden light washed over them both, and when she finally stood to go, Max let out a small, aching whine. That night, Laura couldn’t sleep. All she could see were those sad eyes waiting at the bus stop. By morning, she knew she couldn’t let him wait alone any longer.