Audrey's eyes fell on the small figure planted in the middle of her living room, legs dangling off the couch as if the child were afraid to disturb the air around her. Every careful movement radiated caution, an almost fragile awareness of the world she inhabited.
"Bonnie, do you want some fruit?" Audrey asked softly, her voice quieter than she had intended, almost tentative. The scent of lavender detergent from the freshly cleaned carpet mingled with the warmth of the room, wrapping around the tiny girl. Bonnie didn't stir trouble, didn't speak unnecessarily. She simply existed in the space, as light and unassuming as a feather drifting through an open window.
Danielle had appeared unexpectedly that morning, practically shoving Bonnie into Audrey's arms before she could protest. "You've raised a pup before, Audrey," Danielle had said briskly, business-like and commanding as she hustled off to deal with the ongoing chaos of Audrey's divorce. "One afternoon won't kill you."
