Weeks passed. Jenny still looked for Spark when she came home. She still saved the last bite of her sandwich. She still left the back door open a crack, just in case.

Her mother knelt beside her. “For what, sweetheart?”

In the morning, Spark didn’t wake up.

Spark had loved the fort. He had loved the sound of Jenny’s heartbeat when she fell asleep against his side. He had loved the way she shared her crackers, always breaking off the smallest piece for herself and giving him the biggest.

One afternoon, Jenny sat on the porch steps, hugging her knees. Spark lay beside her, his head on her foot.

That night, Jenny’s parents found her asleep on the porch, curled around Spark, one small hand resting on his chest. His breathing was slow and quiet.

Spark blinked. He did remember. He remembered the tiny, wobbly human who smelled like milk and baby powder. He had decided, on her first day home, that he would protect her forever. He had kept that promise every single day since.

“For letting me say goodbye,” Jenny whispered. “Yesterday, I told him everything I needed to say. And he listened. He always listened.”