He opened the folder and unfolded a document.
—Mr. Ernesto Salgado… as of today, Delta is officially retired from service and assigned to you. Not as an “active” entity or as a “team.” As family.
Don Ernesto didn’t respond with words. He just clutched the paper with trembling hands and hugged the dog as if it were the only real object in a world that had often seemed false to him.
“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice breaking. “I… I had given up hope of ever getting anything good.”
The German Shepherd rested his head on his chest. That same head that had once been caught in a hail of bullets. That same head that now only asked for a home.
Valeria leaned forward slightly, with a smile that was both sad and bright.
“Sometimes good things come late,” he said, “but they do come.”
Weeks later, the Ensenada pier awoke to fog once again. But this time something was different: an old man walking slowly, with a simple leash and a dog by his side, attentive but peaceful.
Don Ernesto sat down on the same bench. The German Shepherd settled down next to him, without a tactical harness, without orders, without sirens.
—Look—whispered Don Ernesto, pointing at the horizon—. The sun, Shadow. It always comes back.
The dog closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and placed his paw on the man’s knee again.
As if to say, “Me too.”
And in that warm silence, between the sea and the light, the past ceased to be an open wound and finally became a memory that no longer hurt.
Because the soldier had returned home.
And its shadow too.
