Angry and half-asleep, I got up to chase her out of the room, but she pushed me even harder toward the door, never taking her eyes off the ceiling.

The very next second, a sound echoed through the room — a sound I will never forget. A heavy metallic crack. A creaking noise. A sharp, violent crash.

The ceiling fan broke off its mount and crashed down with a deafening bang right onto the part of the bed where I had been lying just seconds earlier.

The blades sliced into the mattress, bent, and left deep gashes in the fabric. If I hadn’t gotten up — it would have fallen straight onto my chest.

I stood frozen by the door, barely feeling my legs, while my dog whimpered quietly beside me, pressing against me as if she understood she had just saved my life.

Later, when I examined the fan, I discovered that the mounts were almost completely torn out — they must have been creaking and loosening for a long time while I slept without noticing.

But my dog heard everything. The cracking, the vibration, the metal slowly giving way. And every night she tried, in her own way, to warn me.