“Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”

Through tears, I blurted out, “Then why did he do that? Look at her, she’s terrified! I’m telling our parents!”

His expression changed. Calmly, he said, “I need to explain. This isn’t just a pet — he’s trained to detect cancer. When he finds it, he jumps and barks like that. I work at a clinic. You should tell your parents and have her checked, just in case.”

We didn’t fully grasp it then, but we told our parents. They were skeptical, but took her to the hospital.

The doctors confirmed it: she had can.cer.

What followed was the hardest chapter of our lives — endless hospital visits, treatments, and long nights clinging to hope. We fought alongside her every step.

But not all battles end the way we pray for. Sometimes, hope fades too soon.

Now, I keep living, keep studying… yet every elevator ride, every glimpse of a Labrador, every faint hospital scent squeezes my heart.

That day gave us something priceless — time. Time to say we loved her. Time to hold on to each other.

Without that dog, we might never have known.