The voice continued.
“I know you hate thunderstorms. And I know you always pretend not to like baths even though you get the zoomies afterward.”
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“She made this after her diagnosis,” Elaine whispered.
On the tape, the woman laughed softly.
“You were such a terrible puppy, you know that? You chewed through my favorite shoes, destroyed the couch cushions, and somehow learned how to open the pantry.”
Jasper struggled to his feet.
His old joints shook as he moved closer to the table.
Then came a pause on the recording.
When the woman spoke again, her voice sounded softer.
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