I followed the directions. The house was run-down but familiar in a way I couldn’t explain. Inside, I found a box with photos—pictures of me as a child. Playing in a yard. Hugging a puppy that looked exactly like Blue. A second letter revealed the truth:
this was my childhood home. After my parents passed when I was eight, I was sent to live far away. The trauma had erased those early memories. But Blue—he never forgot. He had waited here, for years, hoping I’d return. The journal from my mother filled in the gaps. And Blue, the dog I didn’t even know I’d lost, had brought me home. That day, I didn’t just find a dog. I rediscovered a forgotten piece of myself.