A fierce storm hammered my isolated farmhouse, wind and rain lashing with fury. Inside, it was just me and Lucky, my aging but loyal dog.

As the storm escalated, Lucky grew restless—tail stiff, ears alert—pacing at the door with quiet urgency. No amount of coaxing calmed him. He sensed something outside.

Curious and uneasy, I cracked open the door. Lucky bolted into the storm, forcing me to follow into the wild night. That’s when I saw her—huddled at a nearby bus stop, soaked to the bone, trembling. She was just a teenager, maybe fourteen, with haunted eyes. Without hesitation, I brought her inside.