Thirty-Six Pages of Bank Receipts and the Chicago Mortgage Transfer I Finally Canceled

I sat on the edge of the mattress and untied my shoes.

My phone chimed on the nightstand with an incoming photo.

I picked it up and unlocked it.

It was a picture of Buster, our family’s golden retriever.

The dog lay on the faded green rug in the front hallway with his gray chin on his front paws, staring right into the camera.

Three seconds after the photo loaded, a text from my mother came in.

“Buster has been sitting by the front door all day waiting for your car,” the text said.