She paced the living room slowly, scanning every corner, searching for something —anything— that might calm the dog down a bit. Then her eyes landed on the old glass cabinet. Inside, behind a row of trinkets, sat a faded stuffed rabbit. A childhood toy that hadn’t been touched in years.
It belonged to her granddaughter, who used to bring it everywhere—on walks, during naps, tucked in her arm at all times. Maya moved toward the cabinet with a new purpose, opened it, and carefully lifted the plushie from its resting place. The fabric was soft, worn, and familiar in her hands.