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

The ground was soft beneath my feet, the air smelling of wet leaves and earth. Baxter ran ahead, stopping every few steps to make sure I was still behind him.

I didn’t question why I was following.

I just knew I had to.

“Where are you taking me?” I called, my voice cracking.

He led me across the lot, past overgrown weeds and rusted tools, straight toward continue reading …