I wasn’t in the mood for detours when I stopped by Harlow’s Home & Hardware late on a Wednesday. I just wanted duct tape and batteries. But there she was — a sandy-colored dog sitting quietly in the aisle. No owner in sight, just a worn leash and a collar with one word: HOPE.

The cashier said she shows up every now and then, always on Wednesdays, sits quietly, then leaves — alone. Something about her eyes told me she was waiting for someone who wouldn’t come back. I couldn’t leave her there.

I took her home.

Hope quickly settled in and became my grounding presence. She nudged me when I was anxious, reminded me to slow down, and brought calm to my chaotic life. Two weeks later, on a Wednesday night, she led me back to the hardware store, waiting silently by the door.

There I noticed a faded photo of a woman and a dog — Maria and Hope. Maria died in a car crash years ago, and Hope disappeared after that. Hope wasn’t waiting for someone new — she was honoring a lost bond.

Now, I volunteer with Hope at a senior center, where she helps people open their hearts. Sometimes closure is a choice, and sometimes hope is a new beginning.