I never expected a walk in the park with my dog, Max, to turn into a life-changing moment. Max ran off and returned with a small leather bag clenched in his jaws. Inside was a note:
“To the kind soul who finds this, please help my wife. She forgets things sometimes. If you see her, be gentle. An address is inside. Thank you. — J.”
Heart racing, I found a slip of paper with an address. Max and I followed it to a cozy house. An elderly woman answered the door—Greta. Her eyes glistened as I handed her the bag and note.
“My husband wrote this,” she whispered. “He passed last year, but he always worried about me. This was his way of still looking out for me.”
Sitting with her, listening to her stories, I felt a warmth I hadn’t expected. Love doesn’t end when someone’s gone—it lingers, quietly, like a presence you can always feel.
