I thought she was just being possessive.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Loki had been my best friend long before my husband ever came into the picture. She’d been there through every chapter — when I got engaged, when we married, and when we learned I was going to be a mom.

She wasn’t just a pet. She was family.

My husband, on the other hand, never bonded with her. He wouldn’t feed her, play with her, or even give her a pat on the head.

It didn’t bother me much — I was used to being the one who cared for her. After all, Loki had been the one to comfort me during the loneliest moments of my life.

But once I became pregnant, something in her changed.

She started lying beside me constantly, her head resting gently on my growing belly — as if she could hear the tiny heartbeat inside. Every time the baby kicked, she’d wag her tail or give a happy bark, as if celebrating with me.

Yet whenever my husband came close and tried to touch my stomach, she would tense, growl, and stand protectively in front of me. Once, she even snapped at his hand.

I scolded her then, believing she was just jealous or overprotective.

But I was wrong.

After my son was born, I discovered a truth so dark it still makes me tremble.

One afternoon, while my husband was in the shower, I picked up his phone — just to set an alarm. But I accidentally opened his messages with his mother.

What I read made my blood run cold:

“I don’t want this child. She’ll love him more than me anyway. Sometimes I wish he’d never been born. I hate him.”

For a moment, I couldn’t move. My hands went numb. The words blurred before my eyes, but their meaning was painfully clear.

Loki had sensed it all — the resentment, the hatred, the danger — long before I did.

She hadn’t been guarding me out of jealousy. She was protecting me and the baby from someone who didn’t truly want us.

Now, when I watch my little boy giggling as he runs his tiny hands through Loki’s fur, I understand the depth of her love.

If it weren’t for her instincts, her loyalty, her courage…
my son might not be here today.