He came to the nursing home with only a duffel bag, a sealed photo album, and a cap that read “Vietnam Veteran.” Harold
spoke to no one, ate in silence, and stared out the window. That kind of silence didn’t feel empty—it felt haunted. Then one day,
a therapy puppy crawled into his lap, and everything changed. He didn’t smile,]just rested his hands on her like he’d done it a thousand times.
He gently whispered, “Where did you find her?” He saw a mark on the puppy’s paw—just like his old dog Molly’s. Back in 1971,
after surviving Vietnam, a crash took his parents, and Molly vanished. Despite endless searching, he never found her and
