“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.
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.
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.
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