Rachel sat beside him, tears spilling. “You sold your bike for me?”
“I’d give up everything for you,” Bull said. “You’ve always been my pride and joy.”
“I know,” he said gently. “Your mama told me. I stayed away because I wanted you to have peace.”
She sobbed harder. “I erased you. And you still love me.”
“Always,” Bull whispered. “You’re my daughter.”
Duke moved closer, resting his head on Rachel’s lap. She stroked his fur through tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For all of it.”
She looked at the officers. “I’m not taking the dog.”
They nodded and quietly left.
Rachel stayed by Bull’s side for days. She saw how much the staff adored him, how Duke comforted other patients. On the third day, she asked if she could walk Duke. When she returned, she said softly, “He’s a good dog. I understand why you love him.”
“Do you understand why I loved the bike?” Bull asked.
