The hospital room was dimly lit, the silence broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines. On the bed lay Tom, once a vibrant and lively man, now reduced to a pale figure kept alive by tubes and wires. His wife, Kate, sat beside him, her face etched with exhaustion and grief. It had been three months since the accident—a car crash that had left Tom in a coma. The doctors had done everything they could, but their words earlier that morning were clear: *There’s no hope.*

Kate had spent the past few hours in quiet agony, torn between holding on and letting go. Tomorrow, she and the family would have to make the hardest decision of their lives. But before that, there was one last thing she needed to do.

.

.

.

Max, Tom’s beloved white Labrador, had been part of their family for eight years. The dog had been Tom’s shadow, following him everywhere, from morning jogs to lazy evenings on the couch. Max had been restless since the accident, pacing the house, whining at the door, waiting for his best friend to come home. Kate decided it was time for Max to say goodbye.

When Kate brought Max into the hospital room, the dog’s behavior was unusual. Normally, Max would run excitedly to Tom, wagging his tail and nudging him for attention. But today, he walked slowly, almost cautiously, as if he understood the gravity of the situation. He approached the bed and stopped, staring at Tom’s face.

“Go on, Max,” Kate whispered, her voice trembling. “Say goodbye.”

Max didn’t wag his tail or bark. Instead, he rested his head gently on Tom’s chest, closing his eyes as if listening for something only he could hear. The room was still, the only sound the faint hum of the machines. Minutes passed, and the doctors exchanged glances.

“It’s time,” one of them said softly, motioning for the nurse to lead Max out of the room.

But just as the nurse stepped forward, Max’s ears twitched. His body stiffened, and his eyes locked onto Tom’s face. Then, without warning, Max barked

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