Night deepened outside, rain whispering against the windows. Nurses passed, murmuring, staring at the strange guardian posted by the glass. “A dog here,” one said, “is unsanitary.” Elena wiped her hands, meeting her gaze. “So is the world that put that child there,” she said. “He can stay till the police arrive.”
Nurses whispered. Visitors stared. One janitor hovered, mop hesitating over the pawprints. “We can’t keep a dog here,” one of the night nurses, Connie, said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Allergies, infection control, everything.” Elena kept her voice even. “He is outside, not near the patients. He saved her. He’s earned that space.”