📖 Part 5: Sleepless Nights
The first night Shadow didn’t rise to greet her, Clara told herself it was just fatigue.
The second night, she knew better.
He stayed curled near the fire, eyes half-lidded, breath thin. She brought broth again, warm and seasoned, but he only nudged it with his nose.
She set it aside.
Then she folded her old coat and placed it under his head.
And sat beside him for hours, listening to the sound of someone she loved slowly slipping away.
Sleep came in fragments.
A nap in the chair. A jolt awake from silence. The sound of Shadow shifting, coughing gently — like something in his chest was loose.
She touched his ribs. Still rising, still falling.
But slower.
Clara found herself talking aloud again — not to fill the silence, but to stay tethered to it.
“You remember June?” she asked one night. “She used to fake a limp when Daniel wanted her to go on walks. That dog was smarter than both of us.”
Shadow blinked once, his tail tapping once.
And in that small sound — the soft thud of fur against quilt — Clara felt something break open inside her.
She leaned forward, cupped his muzzle, and whispered, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”
The next day, she carried him to the exam room.
He didn’t resist. Didn’t lift his head. Just let her hold his weight like an aging child too tired to pretend.
She listened to his chest again.
Still the same — not worse, but not better. A slow, irregular beat that came like waves against a weakening shore.
She gave him subcutaneous fluids, gently warmed, hoping to ease the strain. Wiped his eyes. Cleaned his paws.
Shadow never made a sound.
But when she stepped away for a moment, he tried to stand.
One leg trembled. The other folded.
And yet — he dragged himself after her anyway.
She turned, saw him trying, and rushed back.
“No,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Just rest. Please.”
He stopped.
Laid down.
And licked her knee once before closing his eyes.
That night, the storm rolled in.
Wind swept through Ash Hollow like an old sorrow. The trees groaned, the clinic roof creaked. Clara lit every candle she had and stayed with Shadow on the floor, the fireplace casting long shadows on the walls.
She wrapped her arms around him.
Spoke to him like she would a patient, or a child, or a man she once loved.
“You’re safe. You’re not alone. You hear me, Shadow? Not alone.”
Just before dawn, she dozed.
When she opened her eyes, Shadow had shifted.
He was lying with his head on her hand.
His breathing slow. But still there.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stayed there, barely daring to breathe — terrified that if she did, he might stop.