Doctors Had No Answers—But This Dog Did (2 of 4)

She no longer wept. Grief had drained her dry.

Her husband, Michael, shuffled down the hallway. His face carried the exhaustion of a man who had spent too many nights staring at ceilings. “You should sleep,” he said softly.

Sarah shook her head. “What if tonight is the night something changes?”

He didn’t argue. Hope was all they had left.

A Small Intruder

That night, the silence broke—softer than footsteps. Sarah turned and saw Max.

Only eight weeks old, the golden retriever pup was far too big for his tiny body, with ears that flopped like they didn’t belong to him. Sarah’s sister had brought him as a gift, hoping to sprinkle light into a dark house.

Max had been different from the start—quiet, watchful, almost knowing. Now, he padded to the crib, tail swishing gently.

“Max, no,” Sarah whispered.

But the pup ignored her. With a clumsy leap, he landed in the crib beside Noah. Sarah’s breath caught, but Max didn’t bark, didn’t nip. He simply curled his warm body against the boy’s still frame, resting his head near the tiny, motionless hand.

Michael’s voice was hushed. “Should I pull him out?”

Sarah shook her head. “Let him stay.”