I didn’t interrupt. That night, I quietly packed extra food in his lunch. And so their routine began — every afternoon after school, Theo would sneak behind the store, and Rusty would be waiting.
Word got around the town, of course. Someone spotted him and whispered about it at the grocery store. Kids at school teased him, calling him “Dog Boy.” Theo brushed it off. “Rusty doesn’t mind,” he said.
A few days later, I left work early again — and froze when I saw a shiny red SUV parked near the alley. A gray-haired man in a suit stood beside it, staring at Theo and Rusty with an intensity that made my stomach clench. I hurried over.
He whispered one word: “Rusty?”
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