Some of Lily's belongings had been taken after the accident. I understood why, but that didn't make it any easier. Every item felt like a part of her, locked behind a door I couldn't open. Among them was her favorite yellow sweater. Soft, bright, and cheerful, it was her favorite outfit on weekends. When she wore it, I could recognize her anywhere.

I missed this sweater more than I expected.

Daniel was still asleep upstairs, breathing raggedly. I didn't want to wake him. He needed rest, even if it was short and intermittent.

I was staring into the fog when I heard it.

Scratching. Scratching. Scratching.

At first, I ignored it. Our dog, Baxter, usually stayed outside in the mornings. He had a cozy spot on the porch and loved the cool air. If he wanted to come inside, he'd bark once or twice. This time was different.

The sound was insistent. Sharp. Almost panicky.

I slowly pushed my chair back, my heart pounding. Ever since this all happened, every unexpected noise had been getting on my nerves. I cautiously moved toward the back door.

“Baxter?” I called softly.

The scratching stopped for a moment.

Then came a short, sharp bark. The kind he only used when something was wrong.

I unlocked the door and opened it.

Baxter stood there, eyes wide, chest heaving, ears pricked. His tail was stiff, not wagging like it usually did when he saw me.

And something yellow was delicately hanging from his mouth.

For a moment my mind refused to comprehend what my eyes were seeing.

“Baxter…” My voice trailed off.

He came over and carefully placed the bundle at my feet.

It was a sweater.

Soft, yellow sweater with tiny pearl buttons.

My legs almost gave out beneath me. I gripped the doorframe, my breath catching somewhere between my chest and throat.

“It's impossible,” I whispered.

I bent down to pick it up, my hands shaking so much I could barely touch the fabric. Before I could pick it up, Baxter picked it up again and took a step away from me.

“Where did you get that?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Give it to me.”

He didn't move. Instead, he turned his head toward the yard, his eyes focused and intent. Then, without hesitation, he moved.

“Baxter!” I called, trying to put on my shoes.

I didn't stop to grab my jacket. I didn't think about the cold or the damp air. I followed him across the yard, clutching my sweater tightly in my hand.

He squeezed through a narrow gap in the wooden fence, the same one Lily used to squeeze through in the summer to play in the vacant lot next door. I hadn't thought about that place in months.