Gingerly, she lifted the lid. Inside was a crumpled bundle of fleece and fur. A tiny white puppy, no bigger than her palm, stared up at her with frightened brown eyes. It had no collar, no mother in sight. Just trembling bones and a faint cry.
Something in Lisa cracked open. Maybe it was the timing, or maybe it was the puppy’s helplessness that mirrored her own. She scooped the creature into her arms without thinking, pressing it to her chest. She named her Coco that night—soft, warm, familiar.