Lila was the only child in a tense courtroom. Her parents sat on opposite sides—her mother teary, her father trembling. But Lila’s focus was on Charlie, the golden retriever service dog sitting quietly in the aisle. Charlie wasn’t just a dog.
He was her lifeline—the only being she’d connected with since the bruises faded but her silence remained. Therapy hadn’t helped. Charlie had. Judge Holloway, known for her strictness, addressed Lila gently. “You don’t have to speak. You can nod or signal.” Lila didn’t move—until she drew a small circle in the air with her pinky. Charlie stood, walked to the witness stand, and sat. Lila tapped her chest twice. Charlie barked once.
