“We can’t just stand here,” Laura said, voice tight. “If she has to take her last breath… then at least let it be with him.”

David looked at the frosted glass door—ICU: Authorized Personnel Only—and then at his wife. He had always been a rule follower. He was also a father.

“Okay,” he said, almost to himself. “One last time.”

The door opened with a hush. Buddy stepped into the light and paused as if a threshold required respect. The overheads turned the edges of his dark coat silver. He took in the room: the IV pole, the pump, the pale curve of Sophie’s cheek.

“What is this dog doing here?” a nurse asked, startled.

“Let him stay,” Margaret said gently. “Rules won’t save her. Let’s try what we have left.”

Buddy walked to the bed. Each click of nail on floor sounded like the second hand of a wall clock—patient, relentless. He placed his paws on the rail, leaned in, and breathed.