"You did good, buddy," I whispered, running a hand through his fur. "Better than good."
His tail thumped against the floor—one last reassurance, as if he was comforting me instead of the other way around.
The next day, I took him to the vet. Millie, a retired sergeant, showed up to support me. She knew what Rex meant to me. Inside, the vet did what needed to be done, and Rex slipped away in my arms, leaving behind an emptiness I wasn’t sure how to fill.