Emily ran out and grabbed Hope’s bedding from the van. It wasn’t a crate pad after all, but an old comforter from Emily and Emerson’s bed, folded up. The end result was more like a cloud than crate bedding. Emily gathered it up in her arms and kicked the van door shut, and in that moment, with the comforter clutched close to her chest and the faint smell of Hope in her grasp, her throat closed around her soul and she couldn’t breathe. She shook her head, angry with herself for being caught off guard, and tears flew as she did. She wiped her face on the comforter, feeling anything but comfort.
hug your hounds