She came back daily. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with her daughter. Eventually, she brought papers.
“Mr. W,” she said, “you’ve always been my family. Let me care for you now.”
Walter tried to decline. But she insisted.
“You saved me when no one noticed I was gone. Let me return the favor.”
With the hospital’s approval, Walter moved into a small guest house on her property.
Murphy had a yard again, sunlight, and a new little best friend who tied ribbons around his neck and read to him on the porch.
Walter lived peacefully for another eighteen months. Loved. Safe.
When he passed, Murphy curled up next to him and didn’t move for hours.
At the funeral, Lizzie—now Elena—stood before everyone and said, through tears:
“Walter didn’t just rescue me. He believed in me. When no one else did. And Murphy… he found me. Twice.”
The day after, she placed a stone in her garden:
Murphy—Guardian Angel. Good boy, forever.
Beneath it, in smaller letters:
“He kept asking for Murphy. None of us knew who that was. But now… We’ll never forget.”
