ADVERTISEMENT
Dr. Aris stood up, wiping his face with the back of his surgical sleeve. He turned to the clinic manager, who was staring at us in absolute, stunned silence.
“Brenda, tear up the estimate,” he ordered, his voice ringing with absolute, unshakeable authority. “Prep Bay 4 for surgery immediately. I’m scrubbing in.”
“But Doctor,” she stammered, holding the clipboard. “The clinic protocol… who is covering the cost of the procedure?”
“I am,” he said fiercely, glaring at her. “For the rest of this dog’s life. And put Mr. Henderson’s name on my personal VIP list. He never pays a dime in this hospital ever again.”
He turned back to me, squeezing my shoulder with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years.
“Sit tight, old man,” he whispered, offering me a brilliant, tearful smile. “I’m going to save your best friend.”
I slumped back in the plastic waiting room chair, covering my face with my hands, and wept. For the first time in a decade, I wasn’t invisible. And I wasn’t alone.
—
**Follow for more
ADVERTISEMENT
