Claire exhaled shakily, the sound half sob, half laughter. “I prayed someone kind would find him,” she said. “He used to sleep on my son’s chest every night—always over his heart. He was with him till the final moment. I just couldn’t bear to bring him home, not in my condition either.”
Claire continued after a brief sob, “Milo wouldn’t even eat those initial days, the shelter people told me.” Maya listened, a shiver running through her. The image of the dog, starved by grief, mirrored too clearly the one she knew. It was the same animal now guarding a child’s chest as if nothing else in the world mattered.