“You sweet thing,” I whispered to her as my eyes filled with happy tears. “Maybe you came into my life for a reason, huh?”
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I adopted her.
Eighteen years passed faster than I believed possible.
Hope grew into a kid with dark, wild curls, scraped knees, strong opinions about pancakes, and a habit of rescuing insects from the bathtub.
According to her, “They’re gross, but they still want to live.”
Every birthday, she made me tell her the airport story.
Eighteen years passed faster than I believed possible.
When she was little, she’d cuddle up against me, clutching the gray rabbit that never left her side.
“You found me,” she would say.
And I would always answer, “God sent you somewhere I could hear you.”
By the time she was fourteen, Bunny lived on the armchair in her bedroom, but she still wanted the story. Even when she was sixteen and pretending she was too old for everything, she still wanted the story.
