Part 1: The Morning My Dog Wouldn’t Stop Scratching at the Door

January 2, 2026 by ucef

ADVERTISEMENT

“Baxter…” My voice trailed off.

He stepped forward and carefully placed the bundle at my feet.

It was a sweater.

A soft, yellow sweater with tiny pearl buttons.

My legs nearly gave out. I grabbed the doorframe, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat.

“That can’t be,” I whispered.

I bent down to pick it up, my hands shaking so badly I could barely touch the fabric. Before I could lift it, Baxter scooped it back up and took a step away from me.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Give it to me.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he turned his head toward the backyard, eyes focused, intent. Then, without hesitation, he took off.

“Baxter!” I called, scrambling to slip on my shoes.

I didn’t stop to grab a jacket. I didn’t think about the cold or the damp air. I followed him through the yard, the sweater clenched tightly in my hand.

He slipped through a narrow gap in the wooden fence, the same opening Lily used to squeeze through during the summers to play in the empty lot next door. I hadn’t thought about that place in months.