After losing Lily, I barely existed—sitting with cold coffee, sleeping only from exhaustion, unable to accept a world without her. The police had taken her belongings, including her favorite yellow sweater, and the loss felt unbearable.
One morning, our dog Baxter scratched frantically at the door. When I opened it, he was holding a yellow sweater. Panicked and confused, I followed him through a gap in the fence to an old shed Lily used to visit.
Inside, I found a nest made of Lily’s clothes. Curled within them was a mother cat and her newborn kittens. The sweater wasn’t from the accident—it was the spare Lily had hidden here. She had been secretly caring for them, protecting them with her own things.
In that moment, I felt Lily’s love still alive. Baxter had led me there to finish what she started.
We brought the cats home and kept them. Caring for them gave me a reason to wake up again. When my husband saw them, the darkness in his eyes lifted slightly—we both saw proof of Lily’s kindness.
Though the grief remained, so did her love. In those small heartbeats and quiet moments, I realized this wasn’t goodbye—just a reminder that love always finds a way to stay.