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.
“Baxter?” I called softly.
The scratching stopped for a moment.
Then came one short, sharp bark. The kind he used only when something was wrong.
I unlocked the door and opened it.
Baxter stood there, eyes wide, chest heaving, ears alert. His tail was stiff, not wagging the way it usually did when he saw me.
And hanging gently from his mouth was something yellow.
For a moment, my mind refused to understand what my eyes were seeing.
“Baxter…” My voice trailed off.
He stepped forward and carefully placed the bundle at my feet.
It was a sweater.
A soft, yellow sweater with tiny pearl buttons.
My legs nearly gave out. I grabbed the doorframe, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat.
“That can’t be,” I whispered.
I bent down to pick it up, my hands shaking so badly I could barely touch the fabric. Before I could lift it, Baxter scooped it back up and took a step away from me.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Give it to me.”
He didn’t move. Instead, he turned his head toward the backyard, eyes focused, intent. Then, without hesitation, he took off.
“Baxter!” I called, scrambling to slip on my shoes.
I didn’t stop to grab a jacket. 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, the air smelling of wet leaves and earth. Baxter ran ahead, stopping every few steps to make sure I was still behind him.
I didn’t question why I was following.
I just knew I had to.
“Where are you taking me?” I called, my voice cracking.
He led me across the lot, past overgrown weeds and rusted tools, straight toward an old shed at the far edge of the property. The door hung unevenly, barely attached.
Baxter stopped at the entrance.
My heart was pounding as I stepped inside.
The shed smelled of damp wood and dust. Sunlight filtered through warped boards, creating pale lines across the floor. My breathing sounded loud in the quiet space.
That’s when I saw it.
In the far corner, tucked behind an old rake and a cracked flowerpot, was a small nest made of clothing.
Familiar clothing.
I moved closer, my chest tightening with each step.
There were Lily’s things. A purple scarf. A blue hoodie. A white cardigan she hadn’t worn in years. And nestled gently among them was a calico cat, her body curled protectively around three tiny kittens.
They were no bigger than my hands.
The cat lifted her head slowly, watching me without fear.
Baxter placed the yellow sweater beside them. The kittens immediately wriggled closer, seeking warmth.
And in that moment, I understood.
This sweater hadn’t come from where I feared.
It had come from here.
I sank to my knees, my hand pressed against my chest as the truth settled over me.
This wasn’t random.
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