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

feel broken right now,” he said quietly.

I reached for his hand. “Me neither.”

We didn’t pretend everything was okay.

But we knew we would be.

Later that night, I stood by the window again, the yellow sweater folded in my hands. It no longer felt heavy. It felt meaningful.

“I see it now,” I whispered into the quiet room. “What you left us.”

Outside, the continue reading …