As we enter the hospital, the sterile scent of disinfectant and the hushed whispers of staff and visitors envelop us. Selene, ever attuned to my emotions, presses against my leg, offering her silent support. I reach down and run my fingers through her fur, drawing strength from her presence.
A few steps in, a security guard takes notice of Selene and frowns. "I'm sorry, but dogs aren't allowed inside the hospital premises."
Vanessa steps forward, her voice calm and authoritative. "This is a service dog. She's with us."
The guard glances at me, then at our bodyguards—dressed in suits, with sunglasses, and essentially a walking cliche. His expression turns guarded and he waves us on. "Of course, my apologies. Please go ahead."
Relieved, I glance down at Selene, only to find her prancing alongside me, head high. Hey, you know service dogs aren't supposed to strut like show dogs, right?
She huffs, but stops her front-leg flicking prance.
