Part 8 – The Sound of Her Voice
Ruth waited until Harper had gone to bed before she turned on the old voice recorder.
It had been buried in the storage locker for who knew how long. The batteries were corroded, but Ruth swapped them out, cleaned the contacts, and held her breath as she pressed play.
A hiss of static. Then a few muffled clicks.
Then—her daughter’s voice.
“If this still works… hello,” Mei said, half-laughing. “This is Mei Lin. And if you’re hearing this, it probably means I’m gone.”
Ruth’s hand trembled.
“I’ve tried to leave behind pieces of the truth,” Mei continued. “In paper, in people, in Cloud. He remembers things I can’t carry anymore. But someone needs to. Someone has to.”
There was a pause.
Then a shift in tone—something darker.
“They wanted to assign Cloud to someone else. Someone who didn’t understand what this work meant. I argued. They threatened to pull the program.”
A long breath.
“Victor Hanes is manipulating placements. Using therapy dogs as status symbols for families who… donate, let’s just say. I found a second set of adoption files with forged signatures.”
Static cut in again.
“He was never supposed to go to Lena. She never bonded with him. Cloud refused her, again and again. And I’m afraid that if I don’t act now, they’ll take him before anyone can stop it.”
A click. Silence.
Then Mei’s voice, soft now.
“If Cloud finds Harper, that means I was right to trust him. If she finds this recording… tell her I never stopped loving her. That her bravery lives in my bones, even now.”
The audio stopped.
Ruth sat in the dark, tears on her cheeks, the recorder warm in her hand.
The next morning, Harper woke to find Ruth already in the kitchen, making eggs and toast.
A small plate had been set at the table for Cloud—with scrambled eggs and a single blueberry on top.
“Special breakfast?” Harper asked.
Ruth smiled softly. “For a good dog who’s been through too much.”
Harper sat and looked around. Something felt different.
Lighter.
“Did something happen?”
Ruth nodded. “Your mama left us one last message.”
Harper’s eyes widened. “What did she say?”
“She said you were brave. And she said Cloud found the right person.”
Harper looked down at her plate, blinking fast.
“She also said she didn’t trust the people who tried to take him.”
Harper reached down and scratched Cloud’s neck. “We won’t let them take him again.”
“No,” Ruth agreed. “We won’t.”
That day, the therapy program restarted officially.
Harper wasn’t just a visitor anymore—she was Cloud’s handler. With Ruth’s approval and Mr. Avery’s support, she took the short certification course for youth volunteers and carried Cloud’s tag on a lanyard around her neck like a badge of honor.
She walked him into Room 16 with quiet pride.
The children were already seated in a circle, books in their laps, waiting.
Today, Cloud went to Luca again—the shy boy with the whispered voice and the torn-up sneakers. He read a book about dinosaurs, mispronouncing paleontologist and giggling when Cloud blinked at him like it was no big deal.
Cloud laid his head across the boy’s legs, eyes half-closed.
The room exhaled.
And somewhere, Harper felt her mother smiling.
At home that evening, Harper took down the paper stars from her ceiling—the ones Mei had helped her tape up years ago. Some had curled, some had fallen, but she kept them all in a shoebox labeled “Wishes I Still Believe In.”
She added a new one:
“Cloud came for me. I came for him.”
She taped it above her bed.
That night, her dream was different.
Not a hallway. Not a door.
This time, she was standing in the therapy garden behind the school, sunlight on her cheeks, a dog beside her, and her mother—laughing—not sick, not fading. Just there.
“Did I do it right?” Harper asked in the dream.
Her mother knelt, brushed a lock of hair from Harper’s forehead.
“You did it the way only you could,” Mei whispered. “That’s what matters.”
When Harper woke, her face was wet. But she wasn’t crying.
Not this time.
Just remembering.
Two days later, a letter arrived in the mail.
Typed. Official. Stamped with the Maple Grove School District seal.
Ruth opened it, read it twice, then handed it to Harper.
To Whom It May Concern:
Following our review of documents and the submitted audio evidence, the district formally acknowledges a mishandling of the therapy dog reassignment in 2019. As of this letter, all custody and care responsibilities for the animal formerly designated “Cloud” are legally and permanently assigned to the family of Mei Lin. This decision is final.
Below that:
Handler: Harper Lin
Guardian: Ruth Lin
Dog ID: CLD-931
Harper held the paper in both hands, her lip trembling.
Cloud wagged his tail once and nudged her shoulder gently with his nose.
“He’s mine,” Harper whispered. “For real.”
Ruth placed a hand on her back. “He always was.”
They took a walk that evening—down the sidewalk that edged the creek, past the park bench where Mei used to sit, past the bakery with the bell on the door.
Everyone waved at them now.
Cloud had become something of a town fixture again. People remembered him. Not just for his past, but for the way he showed up in the present.
The way he waited.
The way he stayed.
As they turned onto their street, Harper spotted something small on the ground near the mailbox.
Another clover.
Four leaves.
Pressed flat.
No note.
No wind.
Just left there.
Waiting.
She picked it up gently.
Smiled.
“Hi, Mom,” she whispered. “We’re okay.”
Cloud gave a soft bark beside her.
Not loud.
Not urgent.
Just present.
Just enough.
