He didn’t understand why.
One moment he was lying peacefully by the door, tail gently wagging, eyes full of trust. The next—shouts, a kick, and the slamming of the gate behind him.
He had been chased away.
But he didn’t run far. Because in his heart, that was still home.
And he still believed his human would open the door again.
So he waited.
Through the cold. Through the rain. Through nights that soaked his fur and chilled his bones. He waited—curled up by the gate, eyes fixed on the door that never opened.
Neighbors saw him every day. Shivering. Soaked. Unmoving. Some tried to offer food or shelter, but he always returned to that same spot, as if saying: “Thank you. But I’m waiting for someone.”
Three days passed. Then five. Then seven.
By the tenth day, his body was weak, his paws raw from the wet concrete. But his eyes—his eyes still held hope. And that hope finally reached the heart of someone watching.
A kind passerby couldn’t bear to see him suffer any longer. She brought a blanket, spoke gently, and knelt beside him. He didn’t resist—he simply leaned in, as if asking, “Is it okay if I trust you now?”
Today, the loyal dog who was once abandoned is in a warm foster home. He has a bed, regular meals, and people who whisper kind words instead of cruel commands. He still looks toward the door sometimes—but not in sadness anymore. In comfort.
He waited in the rain for the one who left.
But he was found by someone who stayed.