That morning, I told myself I would take a sip. Just one. Something normal.
My hands didn’t move.
Some of Lily’s belongings had been taken away after the accident. I understood why, but it didn’t make it easier. Each item felt like a piece of her that had been locked behind a door I couldn’t open. Among them was her favorite yellow sweater. Soft, bright, and cheerful, it had been her go-to on weekends. When she wore it, I could spot her anywhere.
I missed that sweater more than I expected.
Daniel was still asleep upstairs, breathing unevenly. I didn’t want to wake him. He needed rest, even if it came in short, broken stretches.
I was staring out into the fog when I heard it.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
At first, I ignored it. Our dog Baxter usually stayed outside in the mornings. He had a cozy setup on the porch and loved the cool air. If he wanted in, he barked once or twice. This was different.
The sound was urgent. Sharp. Almost panicked.
I pushed my chair back slowly, my heart beginning to race. Since everything happened, every unexpected noise set my nerves on edge. I walked toward the back door, my steps cautious.
