When the room finally cleared, Maya sat beside Milo on the floor. “What are you protecting her from?” she whispered. The dog didn’t move. He just pressed his head against Lily’s bed, eyes half-closed, as if the answer was beating quietly beneath his ear.
Over the next few weeks, Lily’s health began to improve. She smiled more, laughed at small jokes, and even asked to go outside when the sun hit her window just right. But Milo grew quieter. He spent long stretches with his ear pressed to her chest, tail still, listening.