The quiet after the file is closed

I was going through old claim folders last night—just idly, no reason—and found a dog’s paw print in the corner of a photo, smudged but clear. It wasn’t part of the report, not even mentioned. I remember now: the owner said it was the only thing that stayed when the house was cleared. I never wrote it down. Now I’m wondering if that’s what closure feels like—not the final signature, but the moment you notice something small has been waiting to be seen.