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The autumn rain tapped steadily against Mercy General Hospital’s windows, mirroring the somber mood on the palliative care ward’s fourth floor. Room 417 had been quiet for days, broken only by the soft beeping of monitors and the whispers of medical staff.
nside, William “Bill” Harrison, 82, lay frail and still, surrounded by hospital equipment that had become his constant companion. His body, weakened by aggressive can**r, had slowly surrendered despite months of treatment.
A Life Marked by Loss
Six months earlier, Bill had learned the devastating truth: stage four lung can**r with met**tases to his liver, bones, and brain. The oncologist had been gentle but direct. Treatment options were minimal. His remaining time would be measured in months.
Bill accepted the news with quiet resignation. He had lost his wife Margaret, his only son David, and most of his lifelong friends. Yet one relationship had endured through all the grief—his bond with Ritchie, a scruffy mixed-breed dog he had rescued nearly fifteen years ago.
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