When I woke up to my husband mumbling in his sleep, I brushed it off as just another strange dream. But the moment those words hit me — “She’s in my garage right now. You can go down and find her there.” — a chill ran through my body.
My heart raced. Robert wasn’t secretive — he was dependable, kind, and predictable. Married five years, I didn’t expect confusion or deception. He used to be a vet, now running a 24-hour café in a neighboring town — a dream that kept him out late that night. Earlier he’d texted that he’d be home late, which was unusual, but I didn’t think much of it — until now.
His voice still barely above a whisper, I listened as he wound in and out of incoherent words. The fear of someone being in the garage pushed me out of bed quietly; I didn’t want to wake him. The hall was silent. Shadows reached across the floor and the quiet hum of the fridge was the only companion in the darkness.
As I approached the stairs, a whisper inside told me it might be nothing — maybe a dream. But curiosity won — I kept going. Cold garage air seeped beneath the door and sent shivers up my spine.
When I opened it, the dim single bulb cast long shadows on the concrete. Robert’s car sat dead center — a fresh dent I hadn’t seen before. Then I heard breathing: low, rasping, animal-like. My breathing caught in my throat.
I whispered, “Hello?” — no response.
Stepping closer, weighed down with fear, I finally made out a small shape curled in the corner. As my eyes adjusted, I saw it was a fox — frail, reddish fur matted, breathing shallowly. Relief and confusion flooded me.
I backed away, unsure what to do — then slipped back towards the kitchen for water. That’s when Robert appeared, bleary and rubbing his eyes.
“You saw her?” he blurted.
I stared. “Her?”
He sighed, nervously explaining: on his drive home he hit a fox that darted in front of the car. It was alive afterward, so he took her to a clinic where he used to work. They said she’d recover but needed monitoring. He thought leaving her in the garage for a few days was best — but was too anxious to wake me earlier.
Despite my disbelief and awkward frustration, his genuine guilt and concern softened me. We spent the next days nursing the fox — feeding her bits of food, plenty of water, and even warming the garage with an old space heater.
In time her strength returned. She lifted her head one night and made a soft sound — almost grateful. It melted something in me too. We bonded over those moments.
Eventually, it was time to release her back into the wild. We drove to the forest near where the accident happened. At first she hesitated, but then nuzzled Robert’s leg once before turning into the trees. Tears stung my eyes before I blinked them away.
From that night of fear, confusion, and a strange mumbling dream, came a deeper connection — to the wild, and to the man I married.
