Elena loosened the leash and let it puddle to the side. “His name’s Benny,” she offered. “He listens best when you tell him secrets.”
Maya wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “What kind of secrets?” she asked, the words finding their shape on the first try.
“The kind you don’t want to carry alone,” Elena said. “The kind that feel smaller when they sit on the floor beside you.” Benny, hearing his cue, sighed like a tiny accordion deciding on a key.
The girl looked at the ceiling for a long moment as if reading notes only she could see. “I can’t sleep,” she said at last. “I hear things.”
Elena didn’t ask what things. Instead, she nodded toward Benny. The dog’s gaze never left the child’s face, steady as a held hand.
“Mom will be here,” Maya added quickly, as if the room had asked for proof. “She… she said lunchtime.” The clock said almost, but not yet.
A volunteer passed the doorway with a stack of picture books, bright spines making a rainbow that somehow felt too loud for this quiet.
Benny inched closer until his collar touched the bedframe, then stopped again, leaving a small, dog-shaped pause where fear could catch its breath without running.
