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

husband, Daniel, had returned home only days earlier. He moved slowly, carefully, as if any sudden motion might shatter what little strength he had left. He barely spoke. When he did, his voice sounded distant, hollow. The nights were hardest for him, and sleep rarely came without struggle.

Most mornings, I woke before the sun. I would sit at the kitchen continue reading …