My husband smirked:

“We’ll see what you say after this.”

The living room door clicked shut. The test began. In the kitchen, an oppressive silence filled the air. On the phone screen, the dog lay motionless like a statue, his eyes fixed on the baby crawling across the carpet.

“See?” my husband hissed. “His posture changed. Now he’s alert. Something’s about to happen.”

“He’s just watching over him,” I whispered, wiping my sweaty palms.

Suddenly, the dog jumped to his feet. Ears flattened, muscles tense.

My husband exhaled triumphantly:

“There it is! I told you! Hurry, we need to save our son!”