After a painful divorce, Rachel finally bought her first home — a small, crooked cottage that smelled of lavender and old wood. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. For the first time in years, she felt free.
One chilly morning, she stepped outside and froze. Sitting calmly in her garden was a golden Labrador with soft brown eyes and a worn tag that read “Max.” She called the number on his collar and soon reunited him with his owner — Mrs. Eleanor, an elegant widow who hugged the dog as if holding onto her last piece of love. Rachel smiled, happy to have helped.
She thought that was the end of it. It wasn’t.
A few days later, a stranger in a tailored suit knocked on her door. He claimed to represent Mrs. Eleanor’s family and offered Rachel $150,000 — if she would simply change the date she found Max.
“A small favor,” he said smoothly.
Rachel’s heart pounded. That money could pay off her mortgage, fund her daughter Emma’s college, and give them both the security they’d lost. But something inside her whispered no. She remembered the widow’s kind eyes, the quiet gratitude, and the way her hands trembled as she held her dog.
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