My Dog Brought Me My Late Daughter’s Sweater the Police Had Taken – Then He Led Me to a Place That Stopped Me Cold

That morning, I sat at the kitchen table in Daniel’s oversized sweatshirt, hugging a mug of coffee I had already reheated twice. The mug said “Best Mom Ever” in colorful marker, a Mother’s Day gift from Lily.

I kept telling myself to drink the coffee, to do something normal, something human, but my hands wouldn’t move.

I hadn’t drunk from it since, but that morning, I needed something that still had her fingerprints on it.

Daniel was still asleep upstairs, breathing heavily the way he had since the accident.

My poor husband hardly left bed anymore, and when he did, it was as if he were haunted.

I didn’t want to wake him. He barely slept through the night, tormented by guilt and nightmares I couldn’t soothe.

I didn’t have the strength to talk, so I just sat there, staring out the window into the fog that had settled over the quiet backyard.

Then I heard it.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

It came through the back door.

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