That evening, the son sat on the porch with Whitey pressed against his leg. The world felt emptier, yet somehow full — heavy with the memory of a love that had stayed until the very last breath.
Whitey glanced toward the empty doorway, tail giving a faint wag, as if still waiting. The son whispered, “He’s not coming back, boy… but he’s here,” pressing a hand to his heart.
Some goodbyes aren’t endings — they’re love you carry forever.
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