The woman smiled as she accepted it, wincing slightly. “I’m Ester,” she said. “Thank you—for all of this. I was walking Juno earlier when the thunder hit. It spooked him. He bolted so suddenly, I lost my grip and fell hard. My cane flew. I couldn’t find it again.”
Maya listened quietly, hands cupped around her mug. Ester continued, her voice steadier now. “When I realised that my arm was hurt and I wouldn’t be able to get up, I told Juno to go get help. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know what would have happened to me out there.”
Maya turned her gaze toward the door. Juno was curled into a ball near the heater, chest rising and falling in a deep, contented rhythm. The glow of the flame flickered across his soaked fur. He hadn’t left his task unfinished. Not even once. Not until help came.
They waited out the storm together. Thunder faded to distant rumbles, and the rain softened against the windows. As soon as Maya’s cell regained signal, she called 911. An ambulance came for Ester, and Juno—wrapped in a blanket—was taken to the vet to check for hypothermia.
Later that night, the house was quiet again. Maya sat on the sofa, tea cooling beside her, her body heavy with the weight of the day. But inside, she felt calm. Content. She had helped someone when it mattered—and as tired as she was, that felt deeply right.
A few days later, the doorbell rang. Maya opened it to find Ester and Juno on her porch. Ester held a small cake box in one hand, and a bouquet of sunflowers in the other. “We just wanted to say thank you,” she said softly. “For not leaving us alone.”