I knew he was mine the moment I saw him—a 4-month-old Great Pyrenees missing an eye and a paw. At my lowest, after losing my parents in a car accident and two suicide attempts, choosing him felt like a bond between two broken souls. Naming him Frankie, he became my best friend.

Frankie was my anchor, giving me unconditional love and loyalty that filled the void left by my parents. I even set up cameras to ensure he was cared for while I was at work. He loved snacks and belly rubs, becoming the most significant “person” in my life.

When my girlfriend, Leslie, and I discussed moving in together, she shockingly said Frankie couldn’t come. “No matter what, my dog is coming with me because he saved me,” I insisted. After a fierce argument, she left. Days later, I found Frankie gone. Leslie admitted she took him to a shelter, saying, “You’ll have to choose between me or your dog!”

I chose Frankie. Finding him adopted by a woman named Emma and her daughter Olivia, who had also found solace in him, we shared custody. Our bond grew, and eventually, Emma and I married, with Frankie as our ring bearer. Together, we found love, healing, and a new family.