Three weeks passed. I nearly forgot about them.
Then the phone rang.
“Dr. Miller? It’s Linda.”
Her voice sounded different. Not overly cheerful—just steadier.
“You went to the doctor,” I said.
“Yes. I insisted. I told them everything. They diagnosed severe sleep apnea. And some cardiac irregularities. The specialist said if I’d ignored it longer, it could’ve ended very badly.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“I have a CPAP machine now,” she continued. “The first nights were strange. Oliver watched the mask and tubing like it was an alien invasion. But he didn’t wake me. He stayed beside me.”
“And now?”
“I sleep. All night. In my own bed. And Oliver? He’s back beside me. Not on the pillow—close to my face. Like he’s checking.”
She paused.
“It’s as if he was waiting until it was safe.”
A week later, they returned for Oliver’s annual check-up. Unofficially, I suspect Linda needed reassurance.
Oliver jumped onto the table confidently. Same big gray guardian—but somehow lighter.
“He hasn’t woken me once,” Linda said softly.
“He doesn’t need to anymore,” I replied.
“The doctor told me many people live with sleep apnea for years without knowing it. Some… don’t wake up.”
She looked at Oliver.