Chapter 8: The Diagnosis
Dr. Evans, a middle-aged woman in green scrubs, carried a clipboard and a cautious smile. Arthur immediately stood up, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"How is he?" Arthur asked, his voice tight with anxiety.
"He's a fighter, I'll give him that," Dr. Evans said, glancing at her notes. "He’s severely malnourished and dehydrated, which is making him lethargic. The worst of it is his hind leg. It's a clean fracture—likely from being struck by a vehicle. He’s going to need surgery to set the bone properly with a pin, and then a few weeks in a cast."
Arthur didn't hesitate. "Do it. Whatever it takes, whatever it costs, please just save him."
Dr. Evans smiled warmly. "We've already started him on IV fluids and pain medication. We can perform the surgery first thing in the morning. He’ll need to stay with us for a few days for observation, but he is going to live. He just needs a lot of rest, good food, and a loving home to recover in."
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Arthur let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for three years. He looked down at Eleanor, who was beaming up at him with tears in her eyes.
"He has a home," Arthur said firmly. "He has us."
