Dear Diary,
Tom looked at me and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, love, but we’ll have to cancel the seaside trip this year.”
“Cancel? Why? We’ve planned everything—even booked the hotel room.”
“I’m swamped at work. No way they’ll let me go now.”
When my husband told me three days before our planned holiday that he couldn’t go because of an urgent project, I was gutted at first. We’d been looking forward to it for so long. We’d even coordinated our leave so we’d have at least two weeks together.
“Tom, could you maybe talk to your boss? Explain the situation?” I asked, trying to keep hope in my voice.
“No point. No one’s getting time off at the moment, and they won’t make an exception for me. I could quit, but you know that’s not a solution. Where else would I find a job this good?”
I sighed. Tom’s job really was good. It had allowed us to move from a one-bedroom flat to our own house—small, but still a house. So quitting would be daft. But I wasn’t about to give up on that seaside break. I’d been dreaming of it for four years.
I sat and thought, then decided: if Tom couldn’t go on holiday, I’d go with Ben myself. Originally we’d planned to drive, but a coach would do. It’d take longer, and we’d have to sacrifice comfort, but then Ben and I would have two weeks of sun, warm water, and long promenades. Plus lemonade, ice cream, and all life’s little joys.
“Mary, honestly, I’m not keen on this idea,” Tom frowned when I told him. “Why would you go alone with a little child?”
“Ben’s nearly four. He’s not that little,” I argued. “And I really, really want to go to the seaside.”
“We could all go later—end of August, maybe? The water should still be warm.”
“Tom, darling… by end of August my leave will be over. That’s one. And two, there are usually loads of jellyfish then, so swimming would be rubbish. We have to go now.”
“I’ll be worried sick about you both, and that’ll distract me from work.”
“I’ll call you every day so you don’t worry,” I smiled.
“But—”
“Tom, please, let’s not argue over something this silly. I’m not a little girl anymore. If any problems come up, I can sort them myself. I won’t ring you begging to come and rescue me—so you can focus on your project. Ben and I will have a lovely break.”
Tom wasn’t happy with that answer. But I’d made up my mind. And when a woman’s decided, that’s that.
—
The first few days of our long-awaited holiday went almost exactly as I’d imagined. Every morning Ben raced along the sand in delight, built sandcastles, tried to catch the seagulls, and kept asking to go in the water “just for one more minute.” In the evenings we’d wander through town, sipping lemonade and eating ice cream. We had a grand time.
But by the evening of the third day, Ben had gone quiet. I didn’t think much of it—put it down to tiredness. I was a bit worn out myself, so we went to bed nearly two hours earlier than usual. Then in the middle of the night, Ben started calling for me and whimpering loudly.
I jumped out of bed and looked at him, confused. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Mummy, I feel awful,” he croaked, pointing at his throat.
I pressed my hand to his forehead—it was burning hot. The thermometer showed nearly forty degrees. Within half an hour, an ambulance was waiting outside the hotel.
“Looks like tonsillitis,” said the young paramedic after examining him. “Better not risk it. We’ll take him to the children’s hospital.”
I nodded silently. I knew the holiday was over even as we drove—the same paramedic told me he might need to stay in for about a week, or longer if there were complications.
When I stepped out of the ambulance with a sleepy Ben in my arms, I followed the paramedic into A&E—and then stopped dead.
Right in front of the entrance lay a huge, shaggy dog. He didn’t even get up when the paramedic strode past him. He just opened one eye and watched calmly. Probably not the first time he’d seen him.
“What on earth…?” I muttered under my breath. A dog lying right outside a children’s hospital seemed completely out of place. *What if he attacks someone? There are children everywhere,* I thought anxiously.
“Ma’am, why are you standing there?” the paramedic called, poking his head out from the door. “Come on, we need to sort your paperwork.”
“What about this…?” I pointed nervously at the dog. “Is it normal for him to be here?”
“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “He’s very friendly. Loves kids. Come on.”
I held Ben tighter and edged around the dog in a wide arc. He didn’t move, just lazily watched me go and then rested his head on his paws again.
“Honestly…” I said quietly, glancing back. “Is this a hospital or an animal shelter? Don’t the staff care?”
But none of the hospital staff seemed to pay the dog any mind. I realised that the next day. Nurses walked past him as if it were the most natural thing, and a cleaner carrying a bucket even smiled at him and said good morning.
“Morning, Jack. How was your night shift?”
The dog lazily wagged his tail, as if he’d understood every word. I stared at the woman in surprise but said nothing—I had other things on my mind. Tests, chats with the doctor, medicine, and possibly sleepless nights by my son’s bedside. He hadn’t improved at all overnight.
So I forgot about the strange shaggy dog almost immediately. But, as it turned out, not for long.
The first two days were truly tough. Take temperature, coax Ben to take his medicine, wait for the doctor, feed him if he had any appetite, then thermometer again, tablets again. Only in the evenings did the boy perk up briefly, but at night the fever returned. On the third day, the temperature finally dropped. Ben asked not for cartoons on the tablet but for the toy car we’d brought, and pointed at the window.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Now we could at least go outside into the hospital grounds for some fresh air—the hospital smells were not appealing.
The grounds were full of sycamores and limes, with benches under them. Mums walked with their children, nurses hurried between buildings. And there I saw the shaggy dog again. I tried to remember his name. *Jack, that’s it.*
He was hobbling slowly along the path, noticeably favouring one leg. Then I realised he only had three. The fourth was much shorter, never touching the ground.
*God, how awful,* I thought, watching him. I felt a bit ashamed for how hostile I’d been towards him that first night.
“Mummy, look! A doggy!” Ben shouted happily.
I automatically took his hand. “Don’t go near him, sweetheart.”
I was scared the dog would hear Ben and come bounding over to say hello, as dogs often do when you notice them. But he didn’t even look our way. Instead he walked a bit further, stopped by the gate, and brightened, wagging his tail.
Two women with heavy bags came onto the hospital grounds. “Hello, Jacky!” one said gently, stroking his head.
He gave a soft yap and hopped along on three legs beside them. He followed them to the kitchen door, waited until they went inside, then sat down by the step. A minute later, one of them brought out a large metal bowl. Jack didn’t pounce on the food straight away. First he looked around carefully, as if checking everything was safe, then ambled over and began to eat.
“Goodness, what good manners,” I said without thinking.
A cleaner passing by smiled and said, “He’s very well-mannered. Our local guard, you could say. Keeps an eye on things.”
“Does he live here?” I asked, surprised.
“Years now,” she nodded. “Don’t be afraid of him. He’s clever and kind. If I could, I’d have taken him home ages ago.”
Meanwhile Ben pulled out a biscuit left from breakfast. “Mum, can I? Look, he’s still hungry.”
Jack had indeed finished his porridge and licked his bowl clean so it shone in the sun. Then he moved a few feet away and lay down in the shade of a tree, head on his paws.
I wanted to forbid Ben from going near that dog, but the way he looked at me… How could I say no to a child who’d suffered so much the past few days?
“Be very gentle, please,” I said, and followed, holding his hand so I could pull him back if needed. I knew that if the dog were aggressive, they wouldn’t let him stay on hospital grounds, but still—better safe than sorry.
Ben walked up to the shaggy dog and held out the biscuit. “Here… for you…”
Jack lifted his head. For a moment he looked steadily at the small boy, then took the treat very carefully with the tips of his teeth—so gently he didn’t even touch Ben’s fingers.
I let out a relieved breath. Thank God, nothing bad happened. The dog really was well-behaved.
“Mum, did you see? He took my biscuit.”
“I saw, I saw…” I smiled.
“He’s good, isn’t he?”
“He is, love. But you still need to wash your hands when we go back. Soap and water, okay?”
“Yes!” Ben replied happily.
Right by the entrance, he stopped and looked at me thoughtfully. “Mum, can we take him home when we leave? I really want him to live with us, not on the street. You said he’s good.”
I hadn’t expected that question and felt a bit flustered. How do you explain to a four-year-old that you can’t adopt every stray dog in the world? It would be nice, but…
“Sweetheart, he’s used to living here. He probably wouldn’t want to go somewhere else,” I answered.
From that day on, we met him every day. Sometimes Ben brought Jack a breadstick, sometimes a bit of bun. After lunch there were leftover chicken bones, and I started taking them to him too. He always accepted the treats with the same calm dignity. He never begged, never looked at you pleadingly, never barked with excitement like other dogs. He just wagged his tail slightly, as if gratitude didn’t need to be loud. But I had no doubt he was grateful for the attention and care.
And I began to notice why everyone loved Jack. He wasn’t just eating his “daily bread” for nothing.
One evening I witnessed a scene. A drunk man came to the hospital gate, arguing loudly with the elderly security guard and demanding to be let in. When the guard refused, he tried to push through on his own. Jack got up instantly. He limped over as fast as he could on three legs, positioned himself next to the guard, and when the stranger kept rattling the metal gate, Jack gave a low growl, then one short, deep bark. That was enough. The man muttered something under his breath, turned, and left. A minute later Jack was back in his usual spot, as if nothing had happened.
I watched him for a long time. “You’re a strange dog,” I whispered. “But truly a good one.”
Next morning I caught myself looking for him every time we went out. Just a few days until discharge now. Ben was recovering quickly—running around the grounds, making friends, and first thing each day he’d peer out the window, looking for someone.
“Mum! Jack’s already there! Let’s go outside!”
I looked out and smiled. The dog was lying on the steps by the A&E entrance, sometimes dozing, sometimes watching people. He seemed to know everyone coming and going.
That day I met the nurse I’d seen most often near the treatment room—a kind, smiling woman of about fifty. Her name badge said “Meg.”
“Excuse me, can I ask you something?” I stopped her.
“Of course.”
“That dog—Jack—the one that roams the grounds. He’s lived here a long time, hasn’t he?”
Meg understood immediately and smiled. “I see Jack has charmed you too. Yes, a long time.”
I laughed despite myself. “Honestly, at first I was really scared of him. I even felt annoyed that a stray dog was lying around a children’s hospital. Now I can’t imagine the grounds without him.”
Meg looked out the window. Jack was slowly making his rounds, checking that all was well.
“He was born here,” she said quietly. “About five years ago, maybe a bit more. His mother also lived at the hospital. A clever mongrel, just like him. When she got old, Jack seemed to understand it was his turn to guard the place.”
“Nobody ever chased him away?”
“Why would they? He never hurt anyone. Quite the opposite. He’s helped us many times…”
Meg paused. “But once we almost lost him.”
I sensed something important was coming. “Because of his leg?”
She nodded slowly, then added, “Because of love.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How do you mean?”
“Oh yes, don’t be surprised. Dogs can be just like us. Do you mind if we step outside?”
“Not at all.”
We went out and sat on a bench. Meg continued, “A few years ago a little black dog turned up here. Thin, big-eyed. We called her Daisy.”
She smiled as if seeing her again. “She was so lively—impossible to keep up with. And Jack followed her everywhere from day one. Every morning they’d run around the hospital grounds together. Children watched and laughed. In winter when it snowed, Jack always lay next to her. If it got really cold, he’d wrap his paws around her as if hugging her. It was love. Real love…”
“What happened then?” I asked when she suddenly fell silent.
“Then spring came…” she sighed. “And Daisy… went wandering.”
“Wandering? What about Jack?” I looked at her in surprise.
“Well, it’s like I said—dogs are almost the same as people. That spring, strange dogs started gathering near the hospital. First two, then four. Within a few days there was a pack of six or seven, all very big.”
“They fought, barked loudly, frightened the children. Jack put up with it for a while, but then he couldn’t take it anymore. One day he stood between Daisy and the strange dogs.”
“Alone?” I shuddered at the image.
“Alone,” Meg nodded. “One against all of them.”
She took a deep breath. “We heard the barking and ran out. It’s horrible even to remember…”
She paused. I didn’t interrupt.
“They all attacked him at once. Jack fought as long as he could. We shouted, tried to chase them off with sticks, but it took a while. When the pack finally ran away…”
Meg closed her eyes. “Jack couldn’t even get up. He could barely breathe. We thought he wouldn’t make it.”
I felt a chill down my spine. “And Daisy?”
“Daisy ran off with those dogs. We never saw her again.”
We sat in silence for a few moments.
“We all cried,” Meg said softly. “He lay there covered in blood. His leg was shattered; the vet said straight away we could only save Jack himself.”
“So…”
“Yes. The leg had to be amputated.”
Meg smiled sadly. “The whole ward collected money for the operation. Then we did the dressings ourselves, gave him antibiotics. He endured it in silence. Never bit anyone, even when he was in terrible pain.”
I glanced over at Jack. He had just stopped near a little girl who’d dropped her toy. He nudged the stuffed rabbit towards her with his nose and then walked calmly on, as if he’d never done anything heroic. But he had.
“After all that, Jack never let another female dog onto the hospital grounds,” Meg continued. “I mean female dogs. He stopped trusting anyone, you see.”
She smiled, but differently. “But a month ago, a real miracle happened…”
“A real miracle?” I repeated.
Meg nodded. “We didn’t believe it at first.”
She turned and pointed. “And there’s the miracle itself.”
I looked and saw a small dog hopping along the path, bouncing as she went. Jack spotted her and hurried over.
“Who’s that? I haven’t seen her before,” I said, watching Jack try to show her some attention.
“That’s Bella,” Meg smiled. “The very day you arrived, Bella was taken to the vet to be spayed. She came back today. Oh, she’s such a whirlwind!”
The little dog was incredibly lively—stopping for a second, then dashing off, spinning around Jack, and racing away again.
“Where did she come from?”
“I don’t know. One day she just appeared at the gate. Hungry, dirty, but amazingly affectionate. We fed her, thought she’d eat and go. She stayed.”
I looked back at the dogs. Bella ran up to Jack and gently nuzzled his neck. He pretended not to notice, but his tail gave a betraying wag.
“The first few days he completely ignored her,” Meg went on. “If she came too close, he’d move away. We were worried he’d chase her off.”
“And then?”
“Then she won him over.”
“How?”
“Patience. And that old saying: the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Meg laughed. “Every day Bella brought him a bone. He turned away. She brought another. He walked off—she followed. He lay down to rest—she settled nearby. She never pushed herself on him, but she never left him alone.”
I smiled.
“Then one morning we saw them lying together. A bit later, they were chasing each other, even playing. Can you imagine?”
Just then something similar happened in the yard. Bella grabbed a dry twig and dashed to a flowerbed. Jack gave a big sigh—or so it seemed to me—and then unexpectedly took off after her. Of course, he couldn’t run as fast as before, but he tried. Bella deliberately slowed down, letting him catch up, then sped away again. Both looked happy.
“Mind you, with Bella’s arrival everything went off plan. We were hoping Jack would be adopted,” Meg said.
“You found him an owner?”
“We did.”
“What happened?”
Meg spread her hands. “A nice man. He came several times, brought treats. Jack liked him.”
“Then why…”
“He wanted to take only Jack.”
I waited.
“And Jack won’t go anywhere without Bella now.”
Meg smiled, though her eyes were sad. “As soon as we led him to the car, Bella started running back and forth, whining. Jack immediately went to comfort her. We tried to put him in the car several times, but it never worked. The man waved his hand and drove off.”
Jack stopped by a water bowl. He was about to drink, then stepped aside. Bella drank first. Only then did he approach.
I realised I was watching them as intently as if they were people.
“It’s strange…” I said softly.
“What is?”
“Before, I thought they were just ordinary strays. But now…”
I trailed off. Words failed me.
Meg nodded understandingly. “They’ve become part of this hospital. The children love them. Parents are fine with them too. But it still tugs at my heart.”
“Because they live on the street?”
“Of course. Today everything’s fine. Tomorrow—who knows? A new head doctor might come and that’s that.”
I turned my head. Jack lay calmly in the shade. Bella curled up next to him, her head resting on his back. He didn’t move.
And in that moment, for the first time, a thought crossed my mind—one that seemed completely mad.
*What if we really did take them home?*
But I dismissed it straight away. Two dogs. Nearly 300 miles. A coach. No, it wouldn’t work…
Yet the strange thought had lodged itself in my head. And it didn’t seem to be leaving.
Then I remembered my husband, whom I’d promised not to ask for anything, and to whom I’d insisted I could handle my own problems. Apparently not.
—
One day remained before discharge. Ben was packing his toys into his backpack and asking non-stop when we’d go home. I smiled and helped him pack, but my mind was elsewhere. I kept looking out the window. In the yard were Jack and Bella, as always. They lived for today. They didn’t know that in twenty-four hours I’d be leaving, and we’d probably never see each other again. That thought made me unexpectedly sad.
After quiet hour, I went outside. Jack lay by the steps. Bella slept pressed against his side. I sat on a bench near them.
“I’ve grown attached to you lot…” I said softly. “What am I supposed to do?”
Both lifted their heads. Bella bounded over, nudged my hand with her cold nose, then returned to Jack. He stayed where he was, just watching me with a calm, thoughtful gaze.
I sighed and pulled out my phone. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then hit call. Tom answered almost straight away.
“How are you lot? Discharged tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Great. What time will you be home? I’ll meet you at the station.”
“Tom… there’s something.”
“What now?” He could tell from my voice it wasn’t going to be simple.
“I have a favour to ask.”
“What kind?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m already worried.”
“So… there are two dogs living on the hospital grounds…”
Silence on the other end. While Tom said nothing, I told him everything. About Jack. About Daisy. How he lost his leg and found new love. How he loved children and scared off drunks. And that Ben had begged to take Jack home.
I talked for a long time. I stumbled a few times. Paused. But Tom didn’t interrupt. He just listened. Occasionally he sighed heavily.
When I finished, there was another pause.
“Mary…”
“Yes?”
“Look, I understand… but are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“You want me to drive almost six hundred miles just to pick up two stray dogs?”
I closed my eyes. This was the question I’d been dreading.
“No, not just to pick up two dogs—to pick up me and Ben too…”
My voice cracked.
“And Ben and I really want these dogs to finally have a home. What’s wrong with that?”
Tom sighed heavily. “Nothing, it’s just… I’ve got work, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And it’s an unplanned expense.”
“I understand.”
“And anyway—dogs are a responsibility.”
He paused. I braced myself for a polite but firm refusal. But then he asked unexpectedly, “Are they okay with people? No issues, Mary? Not aggressive?”
“They’re brilliant, honestly. Jack guards the hospital and adores kids. Bella is pure sweetness. Please, can we take them?”
A few more seconds of silence. Then Tom said quietly, “Alright.”
I couldn’t believe it. “What?”
“I’ll come tomorrow morning.”
That evening I went out to the yard again. Jack was lying by the entrance. When he saw me, he got up and ambled over. He stopped beside me. I gently stroked his thick fur.
“Tomorrow we’re going home… Me and my son Ben.”
Jack looked steadily into my eyes.
“And I really want… you and Bella to come with us.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to every word. I smiled. I somehow felt Jack understood far more than people usually give dogs credit for.
“So think about it. Tomorrow I need to know what you’ve decided. Okay?”
—
The next morning a dark blue car pulled up outside the hospital gates. A tall man got out. First he hugged his wife, then picked up Ben. Only then did he notice two dogs sitting calmly nearby. Jack studied the stranger. Tom studied Jack.
For a long few seconds they simply sized each other up.
Then the man smiled unexpectedly. “Well, hello there, old soldier… I’ve heard about your deeds. Let me shake your paw.”
And slowly, with dignity, Jack took his first step towards him.
Tom had expected to see ordinary strays—perhaps a bit wary or scared, or overly excited. But Jack was different. He wasn’t afraid of someone he’d never met, and he didn’t jump around in delight. He simply walked up, stopped a few feet away, and looked into his eyes.
Tom crouched down. “So, shall we get acquainted?” He held out his hand. Jack carefully offered his paw.
A moment later Bella came running—of course she did—wagging her tail happily and nudging Tom’s hand. He laughed. “And you, I see, don’t waste any time.” Bella was delighted. I watched my husband and smiled. I knew that look. Yesterday he’d been talking about difficulties, expenses, responsibility. Now he was talking to the dogs as if he’d known them all his life.
“So?” I asked.
Tom stood up. “I don’t know how you talked me into it… But they really are brilliant.”
I laughed with relief and hugged him.
Before leaving, we went back into the hospital grounds to say goodbye. When the nurses saw Jack on a lead, many couldn’t hide their emotions. Meg hugged me.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving him a home. I think he deserves it.”
When Meg bent down to stroke him, Jack pressed his nose gently into her palm. In that simple gesture was so much trust and genuine gratitude that she turned away so no one would see her tears.
“Take care of him,” she said softly.
“I will.”
Jack approached the car, sniffed the open door cautiously. Then he looked at Bella, who was wagging her tail happily, and climbed in first. Bella followed without any fear or hesitation. She’d follow Jack to the ends of the earth.
The car pulled away. Ben waved out the window. Bella settled beside him on the back seat and was asleep within minutes. But Jack stared back for a long time—at the hospital entrance, the steps where he’d lain for so many years, the people who’d been his family.
I noticed. “Having second thoughts?” I asked softly.
Of course, he didn’t answer. He looked back a little longer. Then slowly turned forward.
Ahead—there—a completely different life awaited him.
—
On the drive home, Tom kept glancing in the rearview mirror. Each time he saw the same scene: Ben asleep, his head on Bella’s soft fur. Bella fast asleep too. And Jack… Jack lying beside her, watching the road intently.
“You know, I used to never understand people who got so attached to animals,” Tom said suddenly.
I looked at him. “And now?”
He shrugged. “Now I think some animals deserve more trust than a lot of people.”
I said nothing. Because I agreed.
At last we arrived home. A small garden, a tall metal gate, and a lawn that Tom tried to tidy every summer but never had enough time to finish. I opened the gate.
“Well, here we are. This is your home now too.”
Bella didn’t hesitate. She dashed inside, explored every corner, sniffed every bush, then came back as if to tell Jack she liked it. Jack still stood at the gate, looking at the garden, the house, the people, and Bella—ecstatically happy. Jack didn’t rush.
I walked over.
“You know, Jack…”
I sat beside him. “No one will ever hurt you here again. No one will abandon you. I promise.”
He gave a quiet sigh. Then he took a step forward. Another. Finally, he walked slowly into the garden. Only a few feet… but for him, it must have been the longest journey of his life.
That evening Tom placed two bowls on the doorstep. Ben solemnly chose a spot for Bella’s toys (actually his toys, but he gave them to her). And I sat on the step, watching Jack lie under the old apple tree. Bella curled up next to him.
And for the first time in a long while, Jack—you could see it in his eyes—truly felt at home.
—
A year has passed. So much has changed. Ben proudly tells all the neighbours that he has “the bravest dog in the world.” Bella knows where her toys are, what time Tom comes home from work, and… where the real treasures are buried—those delicious sugar bones. But she won’t tell anyone, of course. No one except Jack.
Jack himself has become a proper house dog. He no longer startles at every strange sound or watches every passer-by warily. Sometimes I catch myself thinking he’s finally just a dog—not a guard or a fighter. In short, Jack is no longer the one who has to protect or defend. Now he’s the one being protected. Cared for. Loved.
Yes, that’s it. For years Jack protected others, and now he has people who look after him.
This summer we went to the seaside again. On the way back, we stopped at the hospital. That same one. I wondered for a long time whether we should, but decided yes.
When the car stopped in front of the familiar building, Jack lifted his head at once. He recognised the place. He got out calmly, walked slowly to the steps. The door opened and Meg came out.
At first she didn’t believe her eyes. “Jack?”
He lifted his head and wagged his tail. Not vigorously, but in that special way of his. Within a minute, familiar nurses surrounded him. Some stroked his back, some laughed, some wiped their eyes—why they were suddenly wet.
“He’s a proper house dog now,” Meg smiled. “And where’s your Bella?”
As if hearing her name, the little dog bounced out of the car and was immediately the centre of attention. Laughter filled the yard again, much like before. But now there was one important difference.
Jack no longer belonged to this place. He was just visiting.
I stood a little way off and watched him. Once upon a time, I’d seen him here and thought, *What’s a dog doing outside a children’s hospital?* Now I felt a bit ashamed of that thought. I hadn’t known his story then. I hadn’t known how much pain lay behind that calm gaze. And I hadn’t known that sometimes the truest hearts can be found where you least expect them.
Tom came over. “Remember when you called me a year ago?”
I smiled. “Of course I do.”
He looked at Jack. “I’m glad you insisted I come for you all. Every one of you.”
I said nothing. I just watched Jack sit by the steps, with Bella dancing around him, and the people who’d once saved him.
Perhaps real happiness looks just like this. Not loud. Not glamorous like in films. Happiness is simply having somewhere to go. A home. And someone who loves you.
