The next morning, Dr. Harper reviewed his bloodwork with a measured tone. “He’s still critical,” she said. “But his temperature is stabilizing. That’s a good sign.” I nodded, gripping the edge of the counter.
“What happens if he doesn’t improve?”
She didn’t offer false comfort. “Then we focus on keeping him comfortable.”
That honesty hurt, but it also grounded me. Saving a life isn’t always about guarantees. Sometimes it’s about giving a chance that didn’t exist before.
On the second evening, Oliver managed to lift his head fully for the first time. It lasted only seconds before exhaustion pulled him back down, but Dr. Harper looked at me with cautious optimism. “He’s not giving up,” she said. Neither was I.
By the fourth day, Oliver’s eyes opened more often than they closed. The infection began responding to medication. He accepted small amounts of food from a syringe, though his body still seemed unsure whether to trust abundance. I brought a soft blanket from home and placed it in his kennel. When I slid my hand inside, he didn’t flinch this time. Instead, he leaned into my palm. It was a tiny movement, but it carried enormous meaning.
“You see that?” Marcus grinned from across the room. “He’s choosing you.”
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
