I found a puppy tied to a bench at 2 a.m., and when I checked her collar, my heart stopped 
I wasn’t even supposed to be out that late. After finishing a double shift at the restaurant, I missed the last bus and decided to cut through the back of Jefferson Avenue.
The street was dark and empty, lined with shuttered shops, broken glass, and old flyers stuck to the ground. That’s when I saw her. A tiny golden retriever puppy, no bigger than a shoebox, tied to a rusty bench with a frayed rope.
She was sitting there quietly, not barking, not whining, just staring at me with the saddest eyes. Her little tail wagged once, as if still hoping someone would come back for her. My heart broke right there. There was no food, no water, no note.
Just a rhinestone badge on her collar, half-hidden under her fluffy fur. I knelt down, speaking softly, and she let me pet her. Her paws were ice-cold.
She must have been outside for hours. When I turned over the tag, I expected to see her name or maybe a phone number. But instead, tucked behind the tag, there was a small folded piece of paper. I nearly tore it trying to free it.
The handwriting was messy and rushed, but one line stood out clearly: “If you’re reading this, do not take her to the shelter. They’ve already tried to…”