His last wish, before the final sentence was pronounced—which would mark the end of his life—was to see his German Shepherd. The prisoner had accepted his fate with quiet resignation.
For twelve years, day after day, he woke up in the cold cell B-17. He had been accused of taking a man’s life, and although he swore he was innocent, no one listened. At first, he fought, wrote complaints, contacted lawyers, but over time he simply stopped fighting and waited for his sentence.
The only thing that mattered to him all those years was his dog. He had no other family. The German Shepherd was not just a pet: it was his family, his friend, the only being he trusted. The prisoner had found it as a puppy, trembling in an alley, and from that day they were inseparable.
