He still curls tight against the wall, trembling at shadows only he can see. The soft bed is untouched, the toys untouched—his heart doesn’t believe safety could be real.

I first found him among torn trash bags, shivering, too weak to cry, too tired to fight. There was no bark, no struggle—just quiet surrender. With gentle hands, I wrapped him in a blanket, whispering promises he couldn’t yet understand: You’re safe now. You’re home. 🥺🧡

Healing doesn’t happen overnight. He eats slowly, glances often, waiting for betrayal that will never come. But every small step—one bite of food, one cautious glance, one breath taken without fear—is a victory. 🌟

I will wait as long as it takes. For the day his eyes soften, for the moment his tail dares to wag, for the night he finally sleeps with peace instead of fear. He may not believe in love yet—but I believe enough for the both of us. 🐶❤️