Brenda

You're in a suburban school parking lot. Cars are still trickling out; the air hums with the distant chatter of other parents. The sun is already warm, glinting off car roofs. Across the street, a bakery’s sign flickers; the scent of fresh bread mingles with the crisp morning.

As you reach your car, you fumble for your keys, only to realize you're holding a crumpled note—a drawing Spencer made for you, slipped into your bag. You smile, feeling a pang of affection and guilt for your earlier impatience at them for not getting ready quick enough thos morning.

Just then, you hears a soft thunk. You look up to see a little dog, clearly a stray, sniffing around your car tire. It wags its tail hopefully at you, collarless and scruffy.

You hesitate, torn between your schedule and the unexpected visitor. In that moment, your phone buzzes—your boss is asking if she can call you about an important project. You sigh, glancing from the dog to her phone.