🐾 PART 6 — What Stays and What Leaves
Spring crept in shyly that year.
The snow melted slow, revealing muddy lawns and bent daffodils. Trees put on their green coats again. And for the first time in memory, the Harper home felt less like a roof and more like a shelter.
Shadow still woke with the sun. He’d nudge open Emma’s door with his nose, trot in like he owned the floorboards, and curl beside her bed with a huff.
She’d open her eyes and whisper, “Still here?”
And every morning, he was.
Emma had grown in ways no one expected.
At school, she still didn’t talk much—but she started raising her hand in reading class. She joined the library club. She even answered a question out loud in front of everyone.
People noticed.
Even the kids who used to whisper.
One girl—Marcy, the loudest of the former bullies—handed Emma a friendship bracelet one day during lunch.
“I made extras,” she said, like it meant nothing.
But Emma knew it meant everything.
Her parents, too, were different.
Not perfect—but trying.
Her mother baked blueberry muffins one Saturday just because Emma had mentioned she liked the smell. Her father fixed the broken swing in the backyard, then painted it bright yellow.
“Looks like sunshine,” he said, with paint on his cheek.
Emma didn’t say thank you.
She just sat on the swing and smiled.
He smiled back—and that was enough.
But with spring also came something no one had expected.
Shadow slowed down.
Not much at first. Just a limp in his back leg when he got up too fast. A longer nap in the sun. Less barking, more watching.
Emma noticed.
She started carrying treats in her pocket again—his favorite ones, with the peanut butter center. He’d still wag his tail, still follow her around like her shadow made of fur and warmth.
But some days, he stopped halfway up the stairs and looked at her like: I’ll meet you up there when I can.
And Emma’s heart did something it hadn’t in months.
It cracked.
Just a little.
One night, she heard him whimper.
She got up and found him by the back door, curled tight, breathing hard.
Her parents rushed down, sleep still in their eyes.
They wrapped Shadow in a blanket and drove to the emergency vet while the stars blinked overhead like cold little eyes.
Emma sat in the back seat with his head in her lap, whispering, “Please, please, please…”
The vet was kind.
An older woman with a soft voice and gentle hands.
“He’s aging,” she explained. “That leg’s been through a lot. Might be arthritis. Might be something more. We can do bloodwork, but… dogs like him don’t always show their pain until it’s far along.”
Emma nodded, tears silent on her cheeks.
Her parents stood behind her, hands on her shoulders.
“Can I take him home?” she asked.
The vet smiled. “Of course. Just let him rest. And love him while you can.”
That night, back home, Emma lay beside Shadow on the floor.
She didn’t go to her bed. Didn’t turn off the light.
She curled around him like he once had around her, her palm rising and falling with each breath he took.
“Remember the shed?” she whispered. “And the turkey sandwich? And how you ran for help?”
Shadow’s ears twitched.
“You’re not allowed to leave,” she added softly. “Not yet.”
Shadow didn’t move.
But she felt it.
The slow press of his paw against her wrist.
A promise.