He had slipped one arm through a sleeve but kept the other clamped around the toy.

“Let me help you with that, buddy,” Ryker said, his voice low and patient.

He reached out to gently pull the bear away so he could guide Owen’s arm into the other sleeve.

Owen immediately flinched, pulling the bear back against his chest with surprising strength.

A soft, desperate whimper escaped the boy’s lips, his eyes wide with sudden panic.

Ryker immediately raised his hands, backing off.

“Okay,” Ryker said. “It’s okay. You can keep him.”

Owen relaxed slightly, tucking his chin over the bear’s faded head.

I stood in the doorway, watching the exchange with a heavy feeling in my chest.

I noticed the bear was an old, brown teddy with one blue button eye missing.

The stitching along its spine looked thick and uneven, as if it had been ripped open and sewn back together by hand.

It seemed unusually heavy for its size, sagging in Owen’s small arms.

Ryker pulled the blankets up to the boy’s chin and patted his head.

“Sleep now,” Ryker said. “I will be right outside.”