didn’t just have my story.
It had my name.
My town.
A photo.
Not from me.
From someone else.
From the hospital.
A grainy picture of me pale in a bed, Barnaby’s scruffy head tucked under my chin like he was holding me together.
My hands started shaking.
Barnaby stood up on my blanket, braced his front paws on my thigh, and pressed his forehead against my chest continue reading …
