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After about ten minutes, Baxter finally stopped in the doorway, motionless. Then he looked back at me with the same eyes that had stared at me through the storm door, sweater in his mouth.
My heart was thudding hard.
The shed smelled of old, damp wood and dust. Strips of sunlight filtered through the warped boards, casting pale beams across the floor.
I could hear my own breathing — shallow and shaky — as I stepped farther inside.
That’s when I saw it.
In the far back corner, tucked behind a cracked flowerpot and an old rake, was what looked like a nest. It was not made of twigs or garbage, but of clothing. Soft, familiar clothing.
I crept closer, my heart climbing into my throat.
There, neatly arranged in a pile, were Lily’s things!
Her purple scarf, her blue hoodie, the soft white cardigan she hadn’t worn since second grade — and nestled into them, as if swaddled by her memory, was a thin calico cat. Her belly rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic purr. Curled up against her were three tiny kittens, no bigger than teacups.
I stared completely frozen!
That’s when it dawned on me that the sweater had come from here!
It wasn’t the one from the crash — it was the second one!
I’d forgotten about the backup I had bought when Lily insisted she couldn’t live without two pairs. She wore the first one so often, I figured it would fall apart. I never noticed the second one was missing.
“Lily…” I whispered, sinking slowly to my knees.
“Oh, baby…”
That’s when it hit me — what this was. This wasn’t just a stray cat that wandered in. This was a carefully kept secret between a girl and the animals she’d chosen to protect.
Lily had been sneaking out here!
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