The old wooden porch had three steps and a loose nail near the top.
Tom had always meant to fix that nail.
He never did.
Every evening, Tom would sit in his green chair at the far end of the porch.
He would sip his tea and watch the sun go down.
His dog, Biscuit, would lie right at his feet.
Biscuit was a big brown dog with floppy ears and a slow tail wag.
He wasn’t a young dog anymore.
His fur had gone grey near his nose and chin.
But every night, he was there with Tom.
Then one autumn, Tom got very sick.
He went to the hospital and did not come back.
Tom’s daughter, Lily, moved into the house to sort things out.
She kept Biscuit, of course.
She fed him well and gave him a warm bed inside.
But Biscuit didn’t want the warm bed.
Every evening, he would pad slowly to the front door.
He would look back at Lily with his soft brown eyes.
She would open the door, and he would walk out to the porch.
He always went to the same spot.
Right where Tom’s green chair used to be.
Lily had moved the chair inside on a cold day.
But Biscuit still went to that same corner.
He would turn around once, then lie down with a low grunt.
His chin rested on his front paws.
His eyes looked out at the road.
Lily watched him from the window one evening.
She felt a lump in her throat.
She knew Biscuit wasn’t just sleeping.
He was waiting.
The neighbours noticed too.
Old Mrs. Park from next door would wave at Biscuit on her evening walks.
“Still there,” she would say softly to herself.
One night, Lily went outside and sat on the porch steps.
The sky was full of stars.
Biscuit lifted his head and looked at her.
She reached over and gently touched his ear.
“I miss him too,” she whispered.
Biscuit let out a long, slow breath.
He put his head back down.
But his tail gave one small wag.
After that, Lily started sitting on the porch every evening.
She brought her tea, just like her father used to.
She sat near Biscuit and watched the sun go down.
Biscuit never moved to sit with her.
He always stayed in Tom’s corner.
But he slept easier now.
His breathing was slower and calmer.
Lily thought that maybe he just needed to know someone was still there.
Someone to share the evening with.
Someone to watch the road.
Months passed, and the air turned warm again.
Biscuit grew slower and slept more during the day.
But every evening, he still made his way to the porch.
One quiet spring night, Biscuit did not get up for his dinner.
Lily sat beside him on the porch floor and held his paw.
He looked up at her one last time.
His tail moved, just a little.
Then he closed his eyes.
Lily stayed with him for a long time that night.
The stars came out one by one above the old porch.
She thought about Tom and his tea and the loose nail he never fixed.
She thought about how love doesn’t need words.
Sometimes it just needs a place to rest.
In the morning, she buried Biscuit in the garden near the rose bush Tom had planted years ago.
That evening, she sat on the porch alone.
She brought two cups of tea.
She placed one in Tom’s old corner.
The steam curled up slowly into the cool air.
And for a moment, it felt like neither of them had ever left.