MY DOG NEVER LEFT MY SIDE—BUT THIS TIME, I WOKE UP IN A HOSPITAL BED WITH HIM ALREADY THERE I always joked that my labrador, Crover, was more of a shadow than a dog. No matter where I went—kitchen, shower, even awkward first dates—he followed like he’d signed a loyalty contract I never asked for. But this time, when I opened my eyes to that sharp, antiseptic light and stiff hospital sheets, he was already there. Lying beside me. Head on my hip. Like he had been waiting for me. I blinked hard, once, twice. My mouth felt like chalk. I tried to sit up, but my body dragged like dead weight. Tubes. Beeping. A dull ache I couldn’t place, like something had been pulled from me—or maybe put in. “Crover?” My voice cracked. He didn’t move. A nurse walked in—young, jittery, ponytail too tight. She froze when she saw him. “Oh my god… how did he get in here?” I couldn’t process the question. “He… he’s my dog. He never leaves me.” She backed out, muttering something about calling security. I tried to reach for Crover but realized my wrist had a band. Bright orange. I’d never seen that color in a hospital before. The nurse came back with an older man in scrubs who looked like he’d been through a hundred sleepless nights. “Miss Velden,” he said, cautious like I might break, “you’ve been unconscious for three days.” That didn’t make sense. I remember… a grocery store. Or was it a sidewalk? My head pulsed. “Was there… an accident?” He looked at the dog, then back at me. “We were about to call next of kin. But… he showed up. Nobody brought him. No one saw him come in. He’s not chipped. Yet somehow, he’s listed under your emergency contacts.” I stared at Crover. He blinked, finally. Like he was waiting for me to remember something. And suddenly, something flickered. I wasn’t alone on that sidewalk. I 👇