There are moments I wish I could freeze in time, just to replay them whenever I need to remember something beautiful.
This was one of those moments.
We were in the clinic lobby—just a routine check-up day. Even though we’d done this dozens of times, Liam still got anxious in new spaces. He doesn’t speak. Hasn’t since he was three. Therapists say he understands more than he shows, but honestly… sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s really going on inside.
Except Nova always knows.
From day one, that dog moved like she was made for him. No commands, no signals—she just knew. When his muscles stiffened, she pressed close to ground him. When noise overwhelmed him, she gently rested her head on his chest until he settled.
But today felt different.
Liam pulled her in close—closer than usual—and leaned his head into hers like he was trying to tell her a secret. His arms wrapped slowly around her neck, trembling just a little. Nobody told him to. It wasn’t practiced. Just something he needed to do.
Then he closed his eyes… and moved his lips against her fur.
Not a sound came out.
But Nova stopped cold.
And I swear—she looked at me. Just once.
Then she straightened up, ears alert—not tense, not startled. Just… paying attention.
It was as if she heard something I didn’t.
Because a heartbeat later, she turned toward the small pouch on the side of Liam’s chair—the one we hadn’t touched in a week—and began pawing at it gently.
When I opened it, I found👇