I dreamed the claim was still open

I was back in the office, not remembering why I’d come in, just walking through the same corridor where the files lived. The light was wrong—too soft, like it had been there for years without changing. And then I found it: a file with my name on it, but the date was yesterday. Not a typo. I opened it and saw my own handwriting in the notes, saying 'still waiting for the dog to stop looking at me like that.' I didn’t remember writing that. The dog wasn’t even mine. But I could feel its weight on my shoulders, like it knew something I hadn’t said out loud yet.