He didn’t need the doctors to tell him — he already knew. His breaths were slow, his heartbeat softer with every second.

He knew. The doctors didn’t have to say it, he could feel it in the slowing rhythm of his heart, in the way his body grew lighter yet heavier all at once.

He smiled faintly and whispered a single request: “Please, bring me my dog.”

The hospital staff hesitated for a moment, then nodded. A few hours later, the quiet beeping of machines was replaced by the soft tapping of paws. The door opened, and in came Max — his loyal dog, tail wagging weakly, eyes full of confusion and love.

The moment Max saw him, he leapt gently onto the bed, pressing his head against his chest as if trying to hold him here a little longer. The man’s frail hands trembled, but they still found their way to that familiar, beloved fur.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You’ve always been my reason to smile.”

Tears filled everyone’s eyes. Nurses, family, even the doctor who’d seen it all before but never got used to moments like this.

As the sun began to set through the hospital window, the man turned to his family one last time. “Promise me…” he said softly, “you’ll take care of Max. He’s family.” They nodded, unable to speak.

He took one last deep breath, his hand still resting on Max’s fur, a faint smile on his face and then, peacefully, he was gone.

Max didn’t move. He lay there quietly, his nose pressed to the man’s chest, waiting for the heartbeat that would never return.

But maybe, in some way, he felt it still just on the other side of heaven.