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

“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 continue reading …