Sam’s name was cleared quietly but firmly. Editors reached out again. Invitations returned. There were no public apologies, but the work spoke for itself. This time, the truth stayed standing, and so did he.
One afternoon, Fortune ran across an open field without pain or stiffness. He did not collapse. It was movement, free and unguarded. Sam watched with a tight throat, realizing how long the dog had carried damage without ever being seen.