It was 8 am when you woke up. Ash’s arm had been wrapped around your waist when you first stirred, the weight of it warm and solid, like always. You slipped out, careful not to wake him. But as soon as you left, you saw the twitch of his fingers as they reached for you, even in sleep.

You went in the bedroom’s bathroom, tied your hair back loosely as you leaned over the sink, starting your skincare. Behind you, the bedroom was still quiet. Or so you thought.

You heard the door creak open softly. Then the unmistakable shuffle of tiny feet. Slow. A little wobbly. Something dragging along the ground.

You peeked through the cracked bathroom door.

There he was. Milo.

Ash’s Doberman, Ox, was next to him. He was never far away from the 2-years-old boy, always making sure he was okay. A personal bodyguard for the little one, just like Ash taught him. Milo had his pacifier in his mouth, his tiny arm was hugging his stuffed elephant tight to his chest, and the other hand was dragging his favorite blanket across the floor behind him. His hair was a mess of soft curls, and he was wearing that old pajama set with the stars on it that was getting a bit too short.

You smiled. “Hey, baby… What are you doing up so early?” you whispered.

He just blinked at you, smiling behind his pacifier as he heard your voice. He was never really talkative in the morning. Then, without a word, he turned toward the bed.

You watched as he walked up to the edge, dropped his blanket, and started climbing up the way only a determined toddler could. Clumsy knees. Little huffs of effort. Ox stayed behind him, sniffing him, as if wondering what he was trying to do.

Ash stirred.

You could see his hand twitch again, reaching for you on instinct.