At this moment, a dog is waiting, not so patiently, for her person. She sits, stands, lays, paces in front of the window - never leaving her post. Her person, a good person, has left her a fresh bowl of water, a full bowl of food, knowing that both will remain untouched during the dog's day-long vigil.
At this moment, a woman turns the key in the lock for the last time. Her one small bag holds all she needs; she wants no memory of this place, these times, that man, the terror. She's afraid - feels cowardly - yet knows she deserves a medal for bravery. A smile sneaks around her face as she makes her way to the bus stop.
At this moment, the sun is rising somewhere, setting somewhere else.