That night, Grace and Lucky curled up on a blanket near the fireplace. The house smelled of rain and wood smoke, the kind of quiet that only comes after survival.
Thomas watched them for a long time, the flicker of flames painting soft gold across their fur. Every now and then, Grace would lift her head to check on her pup before drifting back to sleep.
He smiled. “You did good, girl,” he whispered. “You both did.”
Outside, the storm had passed, but the sound of rain still lingered in his memory—no longer a warning, but a promise that love can grow even from the darkest night.
