3 septembre 2026

Weeks after losing my daughter

Not barking. Scratching.

Urgent. Desperate.

“Baxter?” I called softly.

Our dog barked once — sharp and warning. I opened the door, and he stood there, eyes wide, ears stiff.

Something yellow hung from his mouth.

My breath caught.

He stepped forward and gently placed it at my feet.

It was Lily’s yellow sweater.

My legs nearly gave out. I grabbed the doorframe, shaking.

“This isn’t possible,” I whispered.

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