From the moment I opened my eyes, her scent was my world—a mix of lavender soap and summer grass. She named me Finn, and from that day, I was hers. We grew together, her laughter filling the meadow behind our house as I chased her through fields of wildflowers. At night, I lay at the foot of her bed, guarding her dreams as if they were my own.
But time, relentless and unyielding, whispered its changes. She grew taller, her steps more purposeful. The meadow became a memory, replaced by books and plans for a future beyond our little world. I watched her pack her bags, her excitement tinged with something bittersweet. She knelt beside me, her hand trembling as it rested on my silvered muzzle. "I’ll miss you, Finn," she whispered, her voice breaking.
I wanted to tell her I understood, that I was proud of her, that I would always be with her in spirit. But my body, worn and tired, had other plans. As she walked out the door, her suitcase in hand, I felt the weight of years settle over me. My breaths grew shallow, my vision dim. I closed my eyes, my heart full of love and gratitude for the life we shared.
When she returned that evening, her face pale with worry, she found me lying peacefully on my blanket. Though my body was still, my spirit lingered, watching over her as I always had. I was hers, from the first breath to the last. Always. Forever.
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