Arnold recounts. When he woke up in the morgue, he was not dead. Just paralyzed, in a state of suspended consciousness. An employee, frightened, secretly took him out, for fear of a medical scandal. Dropped off anonymously in a homeless centre, he wandered, lost his memory for a few days. Then, little by little, snippets came back. His son. His house. Bella. It was only thanks to the newspapers – and the front page talking about an empty coffin and an exceptional dog – that he understood: he was expected.
Today, in the family home, a place is once again reserved for him. His favorite armchair. Evening meals, for three. His wife's laughter, louder than we had hoped. And Bella, always at his feet, as if she had never lost him. Sylvain looks at his father, aged but standing, dignified despite the abyss he has crossed. This dog, he told himself, had not only found a body. He brought back a father. A pillar. A story. And perhaps, a miracle.
