Mike stood in the hallway, his face buried in his hands, while the doctor explained to the staff that the girl had a weak heart. “It’s a birth defect, Mike. There was nothing you could do,” she said loudly for the benefit of the nurses. Emma spent two days on an IV, drifting in and out of sleep, calling for her dad and her “white angel.”
On the third night, they brought her home, and the doctor handed over the final “vitamins.” Mike prepared a glass of milk with shaking hands. “Just do it for Toby,” Linda hissed from the doorway.
When he entered the room, Emma was sitting up, drawing a picture of a wolf and a boy running through the snow. “Here, sweetie,” he said, handing her the glass. “The doctor said this will help you sleep.” She looked at him with a gaze that seemed far too old for a six-year-old and asked why he looked so sad.
“Just tired,” he managed to choke out. Emma mentioned something a neighbor, Mrs. Gable, had told her—that love never dies, it just changes shape. Mike kissed her forehead and bolted from the room, unable to watch her drink.
His brother’s voice echoed in his head: “Hang on, I’m getting you out of here.” Half an hour later, Emma called out for him, scared and in pain. She began to struggle for breath, her eyes losing focus.
“Don’t be scared, baby, it’s okay,” he sobbed, holding her. “Tell the white angel I miss him,” she whispered, and then she went still. When the paramedics arrived and pronounced her, Mike’s world went black.
In the forest, the wolf threw his head back and let out a howl so long and haunting that people in town woke up. Old Mrs. Gable heard it and wept, sensing something was terribly wrong. She had seen Mike through the window mixing something into that milk a few nights prior, but she had been too afraid to speak up.
The funeral was set for three days later. Mike insisted on a quick service. No one realized the girl was still alive—her heart rate had dropped so low that the standard equipment hadn’t picked up the rhythm. The only one who sensed the spark of life was the one standing in the shadows of the pines.
The snow fell thick and silent over the cemetery. A small group gathered under a green tent. In the center was the small white casket. Mike stood by Linda, who appeared perfectly composed. He listened to the minister’s prayer, but he felt hollow; Toby was too sick to even attend the service.
The minister said, “Lord, receive this innocent soul,” but he never finished the sentence. Out of the snowy woods, a white blur erupted. At first, people thought it was a stray dog, but as it drew closer, they saw the massive frame of the white wolf.
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