At Exactly 4 A.M., I Ran Outside Thinking My Late Father’s Best Friend Was Stealing My Half-Blind, Thirteen-Year-Old Golden Retriever From My Driveway—But the Long, Freezing Drive That Followed Forced Me to Confront a Truth About Love I Had Been Avoiding Since the Day My Dad Died

“I figured you’d wake up,” he said quietly.

“Are you serious right now?” I demanded. “You can’t just take him!”

Walter didn’t argue. He simply leaned against the truck, studying me with tired eyes that looked far older than his sixty-eight years.

“I’m not taking him,” he replied. “I’m giving him a morning.”

The words made no sense.