When my wife leaves town, I waste no time.
As soon as she’s gone, I let my best friend slip into our bed. We curl up, warm and quiet, and I always wash the sheets afterward so my wife never suspects a thing.
Once, we were mid-snuggle when something happened that made my heart nearly stop.
But this isn’t the story you think.
When my wife travels for work, the house feels painfully quiet. The kind of quiet that makes every sound echo. That first night alone always hits hardest.
That’s when my best friend appears—soft paws, no hesitation. She curls against my chest, breathing slow and steady, like she knows exactly what I need. While others scroll or drink, I hold onto the one soul in the house that never lets me feel alone.
My wife has one rule: no pets on the bed. So I wash the sheets. Every time. This isn’t rebellion—it’s survival.
One night, rain tapping the windows, we were asleep together when I heard a key in the door. My wife wasn’t supposed to be home.
I panicked, nudged my friend off the bed—too late.
My wife opened the door, sniffed the air, lifted the blanket… and there sat our dog, tail wagging proudly.
Then my wife laughed.
“I get lonely too,” she admitted. “Hotel rooms are awful.”
She smiled. “New rule. She can stay.”
Loneliness isn’t weakness.
Sometimes it just means you’re human—and lucky enough to have a loyal friend waiting at home.
