There was no clear explanation. Ritchie hadn’t been sick. There were no signs he’d been suffering. It looked as though he chose not to stay behind. Some whispered that his heart had broken. Others believed he’d simply followed the only person he trusted.
They didn’t separate them right away. They left them together—man and dog, still united by a bond that didn’t end with death.
“If I leave before Ritchie, please take care of him. He is my family. He deserves gentleness.
If he goes before me, tell him I’ll catch up to him.”
He hadn’t needed to wait long.
Word spread through the hospital in the days afterward. Some chalked it up to chance. Others thought it was destiny. But everyone who witnessed it said they would always remember the sight of the two of them—peaceful, side by side, unbroken to the end.
The nurse received a soft reminder about the rules, nothing more. The physician simply said, “You made the right call.” Everyone agreed with him.
There are moments when kindness matters more than policy. Moments when the greatest compassion is allowing love—pure, steady, loyal—to have its final embrace.
For weeks after, the nurse thought of Ritchie. Of how love, once given wholeheartedly, doesn’t disappear. It lingers. It follows.
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