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

Her art supplies were still scattered across her desk, crayons rolling near a half-colored sunflower she never finished. Her pink lamp stayed plugged in, glowing softly at night like it was waiting for her to come back. I would pause in the hallway outside her door, almost expecting her to jump out and scare me the way she used to.

She never did.

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