The day of discharge came dressed in sunshine. Balloons floated near the nurses’ desk, and someone had drawn paw prints in chalk outside Room 314.
Maya stood beside her mother, hospital bracelet still clinging to her wrist. Benny sat at her feet, sensing something he didn’t quite like—the stillness before goodbye.
“He’ll visit,” Elena promised. “You’ll see him again.” Maya bent down, pressing her forehead to Benny’s. “You have to take care of the other kids too,” she whispered, “but don’t forget me.”
Benny’s tail gave one soft thump. The scarf slipped sideways again, the red fabric brushing her hand like a secret handshake between friends who refused to end.
The elevator doors opened. Maya stepped inside, turned, and waved. The dog didn’t bark or move. He just watched until the doors closed, as if memorizing every color she was wearing.
When the sound of the elevator faded, Benny sat for a long time in the empty hallway, head bowed, waiting for footsteps that wouldn’t return—at least not today.
Elena knelt beside him. “Good boy,” she said softly, her voice catching. “You did it. You brought her back.”
But Benny didn’t look proud. He looked like someone who had finally finished finding what he’d been missing.
