The dog refused to cross the threshold, no matter how hard she pulled on the leash. “Oh come on, Daisy,” Erin said, frustrated. The apartment above the bakery was small but affordable, and she needed affordable right now. The landlord stood behind her, waiting. He had already told her someone else was interested. Daisy shook her head (well, as much as a dog can) and stepped back again. Erin sighed. She had moved cities for a fresh start. New job. New people. New everything. She wasn’t supposed to be second-guessing it already. Inside, the apartment smelled faintly like sugar and cinnamon from the bakery downstairs. It wasn’t bad. It just didn’t feel right. “Dogs can sense things,” her grandmother always used to say. Erin didn’t really believe that. But she did believe in instinct. She finally picked Daisy up and carried her inside. The landlord smiled like that solved everything. The place had exposed brick walls and a tiny kitchen. It was cute, technically. She signed the lease that afternoon. Weeks later, she would lie awake at night listening to the early morning bakery deliveries shaking the building. She would ignore how lonely the neighborhood felt after dark. She would ignore how much she missed home. She told everyone she was happy. Daisy never did like the front door. Only later did she realize that nothing had actually been resolved.