“I’m sorry, Franklin, your case is terminal,” said the oncologist.


    “How long do I have, Doc?”


    “A few months to a year. You can try treatments …”


    “No!” Franklin interrupted, waving his hand. “Sorry, Doc. I’m going to enjoy my life to the end.”


    “Good luck, Franklin.” The doctor smiled while patting him on the shoulder.


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    Franklin fired up the machine — an invention he’d been working on for a long time.


    He thought, “I can’t make it go forward yet, so there’s no chance I’ll find a cure, but I can cure my sadness.”


    Franklin set it for twenty years ago, stepped inside the chamber, and vanished.


    Late at night, as everyone slept, he snuck into a house.


    She seemed unstartled and didn’t react.


    He took her outside for a quiet walk. She was just a puppy at the time. Franklin did this every night till the end.