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

I didn’t think about the cold or the damp air. I followed him through the yard, the sweater clenched tightly in my hand.

He slipped through a narrow gap in the wooden fence, the same opening Lily used to squeeze through during the summers to play in the empty lot next door. I hadn’t thought about that place in months.

The ground was soft beneath my feet,continue reading …