So she left. One overstuffed car and a few too many memories later, she arrived in a quiet suburban town. The house she bought was old and creaky, but charming in a tired sort of way. It felt like a blank page—and she desperately needed one.
While clearing out the old garden shed, she moved a stack of dusty crates and heard a faint rustle beneath them. Curious, she lifted one away—and there it was. A tiny white rabbit, wide-eyed and shivering, barely larger than her hand. No mother in sight, just soft fur and fear.